


The Treasures of Hades

by teamcalebmalphas



Series: Children of the Gods [1]
Category: children of the gods - Fandom, the treasures of hades
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamcalebmalphas/pseuds/teamcalebmalphas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for."<br/>~Homer</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. The Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for."  
> ~Homer

_~Emma~_

 

I step carefully, silently, through the dark hallways of the old, abandoned warehouse. Dangers lurk around every molding corner, in every rusty metal pipe, on the rat feces infested floor. I grip the handle of my double bladed dagger: two separate blades on either end of the handle. It’s a useful weapon, especially when both blades are made from the water of the River Lethe. The surrounding stillness is eating at me from the inside out, what with everything being so quiet that the slightest misstep, a breath exhaled too loud, could give away my position to the enemy. I hate frozen silence.

Water drips in steady and rhythmic intervals from a red-brown pipe that has seen better days. I inhale—pause…exhale—pause. The falling water, in any other situation, would be overlooked, but not in my case. I am what I am, so I can use this to my advantage. I place my finger on the inside of the rusting pipe where a small pool of water has gathered, overflowing the lip. Closing my eyes, I breathe in deeply and as quietly as possible. The water seeps into the pores on my finger and I can feel it run ice cold, even and smooth, under my skin, spreading to my entire body. It’s a comfortable feeling, welcomed, too; the water flows in miniature rivers under a few layers of my skin like the very natural and very human veins on the muscle which are hollowed out for clean blood flow. Water gives me strength, but not how one might normally think.

I walk around a corner on high alert, my dagger at my side, ready to strike like a cobra. There is nothing waiting for me, meaning I have yet to find my target. Something behind me falls, the echo bounces off the walls and into my eardrums for what feels like years. When my heart rate calms to a speed that I’m not worried about, I find out that the wind knocked over some piece of metal. It was an inevitable fall, too bad it had to happen at this moment.

With nothing to guide me but that of the moon’s pale silvery-white light, a light that paints the room through the broken windows, I sneak closer to the staircase to investigate the second floor. I wonder why Artemis—maybe even Selene—would help me out. I’m not one of her Daughters. Though, any help is accepted, even if it is the aid of Hades. On second thought, I might have to sleep on the whole idea of Hades ever being on my side. But Artemis is a different story.

Jogging on light feet, I almost trip on loose wires. I skid (not the best idea) to a halt when a second loud crash sounds from above me, followed by a scream. I dart up the stairs, tripping this time and cutting my bicep. I don’t think twice about it, such a petty excuse for a wound. Blood trickles down my arm in a warm, thin red line. I continue up the steps—some of which I’m afraid will break under my sudden weight—and I slam my shoulder against the first door I come across. It gives, breaking too easily and much quicker than I expected and I almost topple over. The room is empty.

The sound of metal-on-wood clatters from a room several doors down, followed by another ear-piercing shriek. I run, ready to kill what I came here to kill and go home for some sleep. Kicking the old door open like some badass FBI agent, I burst in, a firework in the night. Kneeling in the far corner from me is a younger woman, probably in her early twenties, holding a knife with the blade pointed at her heart. In the very center of the room is the Sphinx—my target—and it is circling a boy like predator and prey.

The boy stands tall, about six feet, with hair the color of black ink. The moonlight is shining over him like a spotlight. _What the hell?_ I notice that on his inner left forearm are thick and thin black lines that dance elegantly together to form the shape of a crescent moon acting as the bow to match the arrow nocked in it. The Mark of Artemis. That’s why the moonlight is so bright. The Huntress isn’t helping me—she is helping one of her children.

Wait a minute.

Artemis only ever has Daughters. It’s extremely rare for her to have a Son. You’d have a better chance at being struck by lightning and living, winning the lottery, _and_ get run over by a parked car _all in the same day_ , than a Son of Artemis birthed within six centuries of each other. I don’t even remember when the last one was born.

I can see that he is holding his side and his fingers are dyed a deep, dark red. On the floor is a pool of red. He’s bleeding. The Sphinx looks over at me, losing all interest in the Son of Artemis, and finally acknowledging my existence. “Well, look at this. It is a Daughter of Poseidon _and_ the Son of Artemis.”

I see the look of surprise and desperation as the boy takes me in for the first time. “Yeah, I was kind of upset at not receiving an invitation to this little party. Considering there aren’t many Children of Poseidon, I thought I’d drop by, represent the family. Now,” I switch topics to the main concern. “Why must you force this poor, innocent young woman to commit suicide?” I glance over at the woman, worried that something unexpected will happen. I like to expect the unexpected, but since I’m a demigod the unexpected is a vast, vast list of endless possibilities.

“It is how I serve my justice.” The Sphinx says.

“I thought you were supposed to speak in rhyme, by the way.”

The Sphinx shrugs, sitting on its hunches and wrapping the long snake tail around its feet. “I found a long time ago that talking in rhyme is pointless. I was, however, just about to deliver the riddle when someone peculiar crashed in through the roof.” So that’s where the hole in the roof came from. Damn…

The Sphinx lets out an excited breath. “I truly was not expecting this. I knew I would have a mortal, but _two_ demigods? This is quite the reward for keeping the universe in place.” I watch the Sphinx walk over to the woman. I take a few steps forward before the boy shakes his head and winces. He is hurt and the woman is about to involuntarily commit suicide. (My evening is turning out wonderfully, FYI.)

The boy removes his hand from the wound on his side and I can tell the Sphinx is as intrigued as I am when he lifts his bloodied hand up to the moonlight. A soft, light breeze enters the room. A sparkling dust blows in through the hole in the ceiling and onto the boy’s hand, spiraling around his body to his wound. Artemis is healing him and I can feel her divine and dangerous presence. All of the gods and goddesses are dangerous, especially the Huntress.

His face scrunches into a wince as his skin laces itself back together. His eyes, kind and silver before, are now full of rage as he glares over at the Sphinx. He lifts his left hand out in front of him, curving his fingers as if her were holding a stick vertically, like a child playing a game of wizards. He then raises his right hand, pulling back on an invisible string. As he does so, a silver bow and matching glowing arrow become visible. He releases the string and I hear the air split, the fabric of space cut by the arrowhead. The arrow hits the wall beside the Sphinx’s head. It turns and glares at him.

“You missed.” It spits at him.

With a dark gleam in his eyes, “I never miss.”

Seeing that I have been temporarily forgotten, I use it to my advantage. I focus all of my energy on the water flowing beneath my skin and force it out through my right hand’s fingertips. The water forms a three dimensional trident a few inches shorter than myself with the weight of a fallen feather, the lethality of a tsunami.

“Aw,” The Sphinx glances over at me. It is trying to be nonchalant, but I can see the fear in its eyes. “How cute? Poseidon’s little princess is jealous. Not enough attention?”

“Yeah. Something along those lines.” I throw the trident like a spear at the beast, hitting it in the neck, pinning it against a wall. I twirl the handle of my dagger through my fingers as I saunter over to the beast, grinning sadistically as the creature’s attempts to get the trident out of its neck. “Opposable thumbs are a gift.” I say. “Tell Hades his niece says hi.” I stab the Sphinx and it turns to fire then diminishes to dust at my feet. The trident is still stuck in the wall until I remove it and allow it to seep back into my pores, felling a little more tranquil. I use my shirt to clean the blood off of the blade, turning to find the Son of Artemis has already relieved the woman of the dagger. She’s staring between the two of us in horror.

“Who are you two?” Her voice is shattered and all over the place.

“No one you need to be concerned about.” The boy answers. His British accent is calming as he speaks to her. I wonder what part of England his accent is from.

As he kneels in front of her, he blows the same dust stuff that healed him into the woman’s eyes. She blinks repeatedly before returning her gaze to the boy in confusion. “Where am I?” She asks him. All the fear in her is gone and I’m astonished. Also unsure of how I should be reacting right now.

“You are dreaming. In this dream, you have sleep walked into an abandoned warehouse. You need to walk yourself back home and into bed before something terrible happens.” Without hesitation, almost robotically, she gets up and just walks out the door. He stands.

“Son of Artemis,” I say because I don’t know what else to say.

“Daughter of Poseidon.” He responds. “I was not expecting a Poseidon offspring tonight.”

“Trust me; you’re not the only one who was not expecting company.” He turns and looks at me fully. His eyes glimmer in the moonlight and I try my hardest not to be obviously mesmerized by their beauty. “What was that?”

“What was what?” He gives me a sideways glance that forces me to avoid eye contact because the light of the moon catches his face perfectly. His eyes glow behind their protective dark lashes, his face is uneven between a majority of shadow and a minority of light.

“The dust that healed you,” I finally answer, looking up at the hole in the ceiling so it wouldn’t look to him that I was intentionally avoiding eye contact. “What was it?”

He squares off his shoulders as if he is proud of himself, or proud that I asked. Artemis’s children are rarely proud of themselves without having a very good and inarguable reason to feel such a way...or so I’ve heard. “Lunar Ash,” He replies simply. “There is a difference between Lunar _Dust_ and Lunar _Ash_ , not just the name either.” He says the names like I should know exactly what he’s talking about. “I would explain it to you, Princess, but we would be here all night and I have one more beast to send off to Tartarus, so…” He bows his head slightly and walks toward the door.

“Wait,” I say and he pauses. “What’s your name?”

“Next time, Princess.”

I hate when demigods do that. They find out that I’m Poseidon’s blood and they instantly call me a princess. I sure hope it happens to Hades’ and Zeus’ children. I wipe any remaining blood off of my dagger and head home, the Son of Artemis long gone by now.

***** * *****

I press the home button on my phone and the screen lights up. A photo I took of my little brother Mason when we went to the butterfly gardens in Hershey Park from this past summer appears, multicolored butterflies rest on his head, nose and in the palms of both of his hands. He grins as white as the Milky Way galaxy and as wide as the Pacific Ocean. I check the time; 11:43. Mason is already in bed and asleep.

I hope Mom and Heidi are asleep, too.

I pay the bus driver and step off, taking a right and then a sharp left. I’m late and really hoping Mom and Heidi do not notice, especially Aunt Heidi. I love her to death and all, but she believes that she controls me. She likes the monsters as much as the next person, though she hates that I hunt them for a pastime. I mean, it isn’t like I don’t see her side of the argument, because I do, I also wouldn’t want my daughter or niece running off to a fifty-fifty chance at her death. What I do helps the mortals and other demigods. (I can’t hold it to the mortals because they mostly don’t know about us, but a thank you would be appreciated once in a while.)

I come up on my old, two story brick house and enter though the back door just to be greeted by Heidi with a can of pepper spray at the ready. Thank the gods the welcoming committee showed up. This would be awkward if the pepper spray were a no-show. I stop suddenly with my hands in the air which causes my dagger to clatter earsplittingly loud against the tiled floor of the kitchen. Yeah, who needs alarm clocks when you’ve got a teenaged demigod coming home late and dropping weapons left and right? We both let out a relieved breath; me because she hadn’t blinded me and her because I wasn’t a psychotic serial killer. Heidi gives me an agitated glare as I maneuver around her to get to my bedroom after retrieving my dagger. I’m really freaking tired and I don’t want to get into any arguments right now.

“Emma Knight, stop.”

Heidi moved in with us a few years ago when my stepfather, Mason’s biological father, died. She came up from New Orleans, the town my mother and she grew up in. Heidi still has the natural Cajun accent where my mom lost hers when she moved with her father after their parents got divorced when she was sixteen.

She stands in front of me, shorter than myself by half a head but twice as intimidating. We don’t share much in common when it comes to physical traits: I have thick wavy dark brown hair and blue green eyes whereas she has thin blonde hair that reaches her shoulders with gray eyes. She is more fragile where I am tough, strong, and angular, but she can cut you to shreds with a glare.

“Why are you late? You are never this late.”

“I know, Heidi.” I say with an exasperated breath. “I know; I ran into some…unexpected interferences while I was out. No big deal.”

She scoffs. “No big deal? Would you say that if it meant your life? What happened?”

“Nothing important. I just ran into the Son of Artemis.” I turn to start up the stairs, tasting how strange that statement feels in my mouth. I’m fully aware that a face to face meeting with the Son of Artemis is more than important. Ready for her to raise her voice at me, I steel myself but I hear nothing. I glance back to see why she is so quiet and it looks as if she’s just seen a ghost. “What is it?” I snap in a low tone.

“Repeat what you just said.” She tells me. None of her muscles are moving apart from her eyes and mouth.

“What is it?” I’m not as angry as I was the first time. She shakes her head. “I ran into a Son of Artemis?” This time it’s a question, not a statement.

Heidi nods, her eyelids covering her stormy gray eyes. “I was afraid you said that.” She reaches out and grabs the counter and every nerve in my body stiffens as I prepare for the possibility that I may need to catch her if she faints. It would be strange to see my Aunt Heidi faint, just thinking about it is alien. She places two fingers to her temple and rubs, as if I’ve given her a migraine by saying seven words. She begins mumbling and whispering to herself like I am no longer in the room. Actually, a better description would be that she is whispering like a madman who needs to be institutionalized.

Suddenly remembering that I exist in the world at this moment, she glances up. “You can go now.”

“Oh no, I am not going anywhere until you tell me what is scaring your soul out of your body.”

Heidi lights a candle and leads me downstairs to the basement. She frantically rushes to a wooden door at the opposite end of the basement, the same one that has been sealed shut with no way of opening it for, like, all of eternity. Heidi places the flame of the candle under the ancient doorknob while whispering something in Greek. I’m not completely sure what she says because she’s whispering so quietly. Before I know what is going on, The Door of No Entrance opens to reveal a curtain of black. The darkness has a strange effect as it pours out of the now open door—literally; it’s pouring out as if the darkness if fog used on the stage of a concert, only the color is shaded black and not tinted white. She ducks inside the entryway, vanishing before my eyes. I follow after her in case there are any dangers.

When I enter it feels as if the entire weight of everything in the universe is on my back and it hurts to walk. (So this is the agony Atlas feels on a constant basis.) It is muggy—like a humid Maryland day in the middle of July, the kind that makes you feel like you cannot breathe and you can actually touch the moisture in the air. (Yeah. It’s like that.) The other peculiar thing is that there is the impression of humidity but the only thing I am capable of seeing is my breath and the temperature is, well, nonexistent. That is the best word I can use to describe it. I can’t hear anything except for my footsteps and the voices of weakness, pain, and suffering. A desire to ask Heidi if we’d just entered the Underworld comes over me. Then I think to myself, _This can’t be the Underworld. It’s not filed with enough souls._ Maybe this is Tartarus and she’s punishing me for being late. Seems a little on the harsh side though. I want to speak so badly, but I can’t find the breath or the muscle to do so, like there is a pair of invisible hands around my lungs and they’re squeezing, sometimes with just a bit of pressure, other times with everything they’re got.

The echo in this room, or whatever I have stepped into—it seems too long to be a room—bounces several times before dissipating into nothing. I have come to the conclusion that the floor and walls are made of complete stone. I know for a fact that everyone has had a sore throat. (So, you know that kind of sore throat where it’s as if you swallowed razor blades and it’s painful and it will just not go away? I’m feeling that now.) There has to be some kind of strange magic at work in this place, one I’ve never come across before and I’m hoping Heidi hasn’t left me alone because I don’t know where on Earth or Olympus she is. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking, possibly a few minutes, an hour, days? No, ‘days’ is quite the stretch, so an hour may have passed, definitely a good two handfuls of minutes have.

I open my mouth to call out for Heidi when I run into a warm body. The candle is no longer lit and I don’t get the chance to ask why as she opens another door. I can’t see how she opens it, though whatever she used, she succeeds in the task. Inside there are candles _everywhere_ ; in candelabras, hanging from the ceiling, sitting on tables or stone shelves, or just on the floor against the walls. They were all lit, casting and orange-gold glow against everything, preforming a play with the moving shadows. She proceeds to a large table in the middle of the room and pushes aside various papers and books. She uncovers an ancient map that takes up the entire table top, along with a book and a few large sheets of paper, both of which look like they have been around for a few thousand years of their own.

I bend over the edge of the table to look at the map. I’m not quite sure what exactly the map shows, I mean it isn’t like it’s labeled.

That’s when I see the Greek letters at the bottom of the paper and I feel like an idiot. In black ink outlined in gold are the Greek words for Olympus, Earth, and Underworld. Taking up the bottom left corner is Hades—or the Underworld—and in the bottom right corner is Tartarus. Hogging the top center is the magnificent Olympus. The middle of the map is, obviously, Earth. The first three are vastly detailed and labeled in Greek. The only colors on the paper are black and gold with a few spots of Roman purple. (For reference, it is close to matching the color of maroon.) What museum owners would give to have all of this, which only makes everything more valuable?

Heidi pulls out one long sheet of paper that looks like it would turn to dust if I even blink the wrong way. She blows the dust off of it and I hold my breath, flinching a bit, ready for everything wrong to occur. Instead, it stays intact and I now look like a goof to her. She waves me over and I step closer, looking over her shoulder at the parchment where there is more Greek writing. Luckily demigods are born with the ability to read Greek, so the translation isn’t too difficult.

“There is a prophecy. It says that the fall of Olympus is going to happen at the hands of the Moon’s son. He will seek the help of the Ocean’s children. The war—“ Heidi pauses and I have to decide if it’s because she’s catching her breath, swallowing, or just doing it for a dramatic effect. Yup, that’s my family… “—will be the death and fall of humans, monsters, demigods, and gods.”

“Heidi,” I say after a pause, my disbelief is intentionally clear in my voice. “It may not be him. Artemis has had Sons before him and she may have some after him. It could be the next one. Maybe Mason’s grandchildren won’t even be alive to see the birth of the next one, or the one that this prophecy talks about.” That would be a long time, especially if this one doesn’t get killed by something first. “Plus, the Ocean’s children? Do you realize the possibility that it is me? Maybe it has nothing to do with Poseidon. Maybe it’s Amphitrite or Triton’s offspring. I _highly_ doubt I am in any way involved in this.”

“No one ever does. You need to keep close tabs on every one of your prophecies, Emma.”

“Look,” I hold up my hands like a criminal surrounded by the police. “I will, but I won’t need it as much as you’re stressing it. What we _need_ to do is find the actual prophecy, because you are just reading off of the modified, summarized version. Find it, and then we can talk about worrying and panic.” I say. I can easily admit to myself that I’m kind of freaking out. What if I am the one in this strange prophecy? What if it is talking about the boy I just met? I’m in the wrong if I dismiss every single possibility right off the bat.

Another thing, if this does have to do with the current Son of Artemis, I don’t think I would mind if he asked me to go along with him.


	2. The Son of Artemis

_~Emma~_ **  
**

I walk down the collection of stone steps at the front of my high school, dodging the crowds of mortal teenagers on my way home. I’m not completely sure who it was that thought shoving a ton of physically awkward, mentally childish adolescents into a large building and telling them to put up with each other and learn, but I really hope they are dead at this point, for I have a few severe and colorful comments about how idiotic that idea is. Most mortals are too simple minded to get the fact drilled through their thick skulls that no one—save the divine—is above everyone else and that there are planets, comets, stars, black holes, and galaxies that revolve around one point and _it is not them_.

Nothing irritates me more than a person so ignorant they actually deserve the title of stupid because they don’t make the move to not be ignorant. It’s like, why do you even try? Just don’t open your mouth. (To be clear, I don’t feel this way just about mortals, demigods are included too.)

Don’t perceive me as that one person who thinks she is better than everyone else, because I’m not. I just acknowledge the fact and accept it and am willing to share it with the world, for they certainly need to hear it. I do not like people thinking I think I’m better, and I don’t like being treated like I’m better than everyone else.

I kick a rock and watch as it bounces one…twice…three times against the bright egg shell colored concrete of the sidewalk.

A thin layer of snow covers the sidewalks and the lawns. Frosted blades of grass peak up from their only home. Tiny flurries of snow lazily creep down from the clouds, swaying through the air all the way to the ground.

I walk up the steps to the porch, armed and ready to shove the key in the lock—a match made my man—when I notice the paint around the doorknob is damaged. There’s a slightly cooler breeze pouring outside the not completely closed front door. I unhook the necklace around my neck, whose pendent is a silver dagger. The small pendent instantly grows to the length of my entire forearm, remains silver with gems designed and enchanted to look like flowing rivers that also pulse with their own light along both sides of the blade.

As slowly and as silently as possible, I drop my book bag to the floor and continue throughout the entire first floor of the house. The air is utterly cold, probably because I’m on high alert. The pulsing of the gems ignites the whole dining room. See, the gems aren’t there to make the weapon look pretty, they are enchanted to signal when there’s inhuman activity near. I have never seen the light this bright. I can’t help my heart rate from picking up. What could possibly be so dangerous that this thing has to blaze brighter than a lighthouse on a clear night at midnight?

The basement door is open when I reach the kitchen and the first thing to flash through my mind is The Door of No Entrance. (I should work on the ironic name.)

The loud _BANG BANG BANG_ of my sneakers against the old hollow wooden steps repels off the mold-wearing gray cement walls and back into my ears, only to repeat the process. The Door is open and I do not think twice about dashing over the threshold. The same weight I felt on my first experience hits me and it is as if someone hit the slow motion button on my life. The sore throat, the nonexistent temperature yet muggy, thick air, the squeezing of my lungs, it is like running through pudding; pudding that is both warm and months past the expiration date.

I pick up on the reoccurring pattern of open doors when I reach the room Heidi showed me only hours before. I have to actually stare for a good minute when I see who is looking at a large, opened, _priceless_ book. Standing before me, involuntarily showing off his profile, in black All Star Converse shoes, dark jeans, a dark t-shirt and sweatshirt that advertises for the Seattle Seahawks football team and with messy black hair, is the boy from last night. He is looking better than ever, might I add, without the being severely wounded and, you know, bleeding. He wears a puzzled yet determined expression as he has one cheek sucked in. He is biting on half of his bottom lip. I watch him as he glances from the aging pages of the book to the aging paper of the map.

The gold-yellow flickering light dances on his face, creating shadows, not unlike the one the moonlight cast upon him last night.

He doesn’t give me the slightest acknowledgement as I stand in the doorway with bent knees and both hands on either side of the entryway, panting my lungs out like I just ran a freaking marathon, and the now practically blinding--and still somehow pulsing--blue light of the silver dagger makes itself known under the curled fingers of my right hand. My hair has fallen over the right side of my face and it moves as I exhale deeply through my mouth.

I step up to him and with one quick flash of movement I'm holding him down with his back against the table and the blade of the dagger pressed against his Adam's Apple. “How did you get in here? Are you stalking me? What the hell is going on—“

He holds up a hand, his breaths easy. Either he is well when under pressure, or I don’t pose as big of a threat to him as I think I do. His silver eyes are searching mine, and the way the light is cast across his face, the right side golden and the left is pitch. His left eye seems to have its own unknown light source from within.

“We both know those are not the questions you want answered first.” His voice is calming and his accent is thick enough that it is completely understandable yet still effortlessly picked out and grouped as British. I don’t speak; I simply stare down at him. I believe I may know what he is referring to. “Think back.”

 The course of last night’s events plays through my memory. I see him about to escape our meeting when I told him to wait up. “ _What’s your name?”_

_“Next time, Princess,”_

I come up from the memory, staring down at him in shock that he would remember that. “Who are you, Son of Artemis?”

“Such a rare being I am. Would you not agree, Princess? Though you’re not that far behind, am I wrong?”

“There’s more of my kind than yours.” I say defensively.

He raises his eyebrows at me. “ _Kind_? We both have the gods' blood coursing through our veins, but _kind_? Isn’t that a bit harsh? I am Xanthos. And you—” He says, straightening up with ease because I am no longer able to keep track of my strength. “You can’t possibly be Mason. Are you Heidi?” I shake my head and open my mouth, prepared to answer when he shakes a finger at me. “No, no. Let me guess. You look like an Eliza,” he studies me, circling my being with an equal radius all the way around. “But that would be too easy, would it not, _Emma_?”

I am shell shocked. There are plenty of frames around the house with all of our names engraved in them and yet he was able to decipher me from my mother. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, feel free to interrogate me.” It’s a comment most people would say with a grin, but his mouth is natural, no muscles being used, and I see that the corners of his mouth are forever preserve to be drawn down slightly, sort of like mine and my mother’s. He leans against the edge of the table, which reaches exactly half his height, and he crosses his arms. An act of being open to a point of boundaries concealed by thick walls that I don’t think I want to knock down, or even touch for that matter.

“Why are you here?” I squint at him. “Are you stalking me?”

Laughing, Xanthos shakes his head. “No, not stalking. Well, at least, I am not stalking you. That one other thing I was hunting last night that prevented me from sticking around to chat with you, I only picked up on its trail. I have been following it all day and it led me here. The front door was busted open along with the basement door. It knows how to get that door open.” I catch on that he is referring to the entrance to this fourth dimension. “The door was glowing when I came across it, and I opened it, stumbling into the first room with light, thus me being here.” He points to the ground with both hands. “And trust me, I had no idea this was your house when I first came here. I thoroughly apologize for intruding.”

I take a few small steps closer to him and pull the book away, shutting my fingers between the pages as I lower the cover of the book to keep the place he was reading. “What were you doing reading this? It’s not yours to lay eyes on.”

This time he does grin. A very faint grin. “You are entirely right; it’s not in my place to be reading your possessions but, you see, my father has more scripts exactly like everything in here.”

“You mean there are others?”

He nods. “There are and I know about the prophecy, the one about the fall of Olympus. Only the modern version is what I could ever find in every one of the documents and writings. Believe me when I say that I have read them thousands of times, copied every last letter with my own hand until my skin blistered. I have driven myself mad at night trying to find it. Something, I suppose, came over me and compelled me to read the ones in here.”

I don’t blame him. If I were mentioned in an ancient prophecy saying that I was going to be the cause of the fall of Olympus, I would do everything in my power to find the real prophecy. Oh wait, my bad. According to Heidi I might be involved. I actually smile. “I guess that means you and I are in the same boat.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shouldn’t you know? It states that the Son of Artemis will look for the aid of the ocean’s children.” I reply.

“And you think it involves you? Do you not realize how many deities of the ocean there are in existence?”

“Exactly!” I exclaim before I can stop myself. “I don’t think I need to tell you to put yourself in my position. You’re kind of already there. But you understand my curiosity, right?”

He looks down at the cracked and somewhat uneven floor beneath our feet. I still haven’t come to any conclusions concerning whether or not his eyes are glowing. Maybe it’s just my imagination. He then gives me a sideways glance, our gazes connecting. We both know what it’s like to not know if you are the one mentioned in a large and serious prophecy. He has to understand me. I’ve never met someone who knows what my life is like. Sure I’ve come across other demigods and each of us has a tragic backstory—some, of course, worse than my own—but I don’t really keep in touch with them. We go our separate ways.

No one really can stick around and I find myself wondering in those lone hours of the night if, after being on my own with what I am, I actually push people away. Now, some might call my position “independence” but no one is independent without being dependent on something. We all need someone or something to help us along. Yeah, I have my mother, Heidi, and Mason. None of them are demigods. Well, for Mason’s sake I hope he’s not a demigod. None of them get it. Mason is too young to grasp the concept of the creature that is yours truly. Heidi tries to help me by telling me the stories and her own experiences with Hecate and the training. Mom knows it and doesn’t want it to be. She is here for me, I know that, but she wants me to be fully, wholly, one-hundred and ten percent mortal.

It hurts me to know that, while Mom supports me, she doesn’t want me to be what I am. I feel as though I am a constant disappointment. I feel like my entire existence is a disappointment to her. I wonder sometimes if she resents me. I can’t control the blood that courses though my veins. It tears me apart to try and never see a gleam of pride in my mother’s eyes since I was nine years old.

Xanthos straightens and faces me square on. “Of course I understand.” His voice is a deep whisper. It’s swoon-worthy when paired with that accent of his.

I have to resist the urge to hug him. “How about I help you find the real version if you help me find the real version. Deal?”

Xanthos smiles, “Deal.”

“So,” I say, looking around. “About that thing you were hunting…have you found it yet?”

“Um, no.” His smile fades. “It’s still here somewhere.” My expression darkens at the idea of a monster on the loose in my house. I also may be a bit upset with him because he is allowing said monster to roam around my basement.

I grip the handle of my dagger tight and stiffen every muscle in my body. “What are you hunting?” I whisper as a result of not knowing where this creature could be and also considering the fact that it might be able to shrink to the size of bacteria, turn invisible, or even take the form of others. _Oh gods, what if the creature is Xanthos?_

He removes a folded and crumpled stack of five newspaper clippings from his back pocket, unfolds and hands them over to me. I take them, flipping from one to the other. They all have one thing in common; each one discusses the horrific slaughter of five dead children over the past two weeks in five different states. Three of the papers hold images of the crime scenes while the other two are of the families around the child’s grave stone, the members embracing each other and squeezing tissues up to their eyes or noses.

“What about them?” I ask.

“When I saw the first one I didn’t think too much about it. Then I read the second one and started keeping track. Have you heard of Lamia?”

“You mean the one who eats children because Hera took hers away for having too good of a time with Zeus?” Xanthos chuckles a little. “Yeah, I know of her.”

He takes back the newspaper clippings, refolding and returning them to his back pocket. “She does not necessarily go as far as eating children. She simply sucks their blood. Anyway, after clipping number three, I tracked her down and followed her to—” Xanthos pauses, inhaling deeply with a bit of uneasiness, “the fourth victim. I didn’t arrive there in time. I was…minutes off.”

“How did you know you were minutes off?” I ask him.

He takes out his phone and taps the screen a few times. Honestly, I didn’t take Xanthos as one of the demigods who had a cell phone. He turns it to show me a picture. It’s a dark photo of a white wall that is painted navy blue by the nighttime with words written in blood.

_It is all Hera’s fault._

_Next time, Son of Artemis. You are next._

“It was fresh and just beginning to dry at the thinly applied parts. She knew I was following her.”

I give him a disbelieving look. “Are you only hunting her now because she said she was coming after you?”

“Oh gods no. I want to stop her before there can be another victim. I tracked her here and she is still down here with us.” As if on cue, an ear shattering screech that is in no way human or demigod sounds and the echo that follows lasts for millennia before fading. I jump and when I look back at Xanthos he is holding the bow from last night in his left hand, completely visible. I wonder if he is able to control the weapon’s visibility.

I step out of the door with him soon to follow; our paces are equal, though in order for that to happen I have to take two steps for every one of his. I may be tall for a female; he is at least six feet tall, towering at least a head above me. Once more is that sick feeling I felt the first time I entered this place. It is a disgusting feeling and I’m glad that I’m not greatly affected. I mean, I can live with a sore throat…maybe. Xanthos is not giving any telltale signs on whether or not he feels the same way, the only expression on his face is that of a trained warrior who knows what he’s doing and how to do it. However, he is unsure of how everything will play out. It suits him quite nice, actually. As our feet continuously hit the floor, the echo is engulfed by some unknown force and taken away, not allowing it to exist.

I stop abruptly when I hear the screech again, only this time it’s louder and I drop to my knees with my hands over my ears. My dagger clatters against the floor beside me. A hand gingerly touches my back. Xanthos guides me to my feet, manually wrapping my fingers around my dagger’s handle. “Are you okay?” He whispers.

I slowly nod my head. The ringing in my ears is still going but I focus on Lamia. In Greek mythology she was cursed by Hera after the goddess found out the woman was having an intimate relationship with Zeus. This is where the story splits up: Some believe that she was cursed and force to eat her own children; others believe Hera killed Lamia’s children. Hera cursed the daemon to furthermore never have the ability to shut her eyes. To be completely honest with myself, I feel kind of bad for the woman. I mean curses are hell in and of the name, but being cursed to suck the blood of children is rather horrific. Plus, she’s a Daughter of Poseidon; I have to look out for my sisters, right? Then again, if Zeus knew how to keep it in his toga, mortals wouldn’t have the Greek myths to study.

Xanthos thrusts an arm out to the side, hitting me in the stomach and knocking some of the already limited air out of me. He looks to his right then his left in a cat-like motion. Giving me a sideways glance, he motions me to the entrance on his left. He dips in first and I cannot help looking over my shoulder. I’m a curious demigod.

“Emma,” I hear him whisper and I walk into the room. The area is large and couldn’t possibly be any emptier or plainer. Well, aside from the fact that we’re in there, but other than that.

I walk along the walls, dragging my hand delicately across the uneven stone, feeling the cracks and a variety of textures in the minerals. The walls are cold and somewhat we from water, with the smell of a creek finding its way to my nose. It is a wondrous aroma that I love. As I walk, the water in on the stones glisten from the blinding glow emitting from the dagger blade and I can say frankly that it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

I can feel a pair of eyes watching me carefully, gently, almost protectively. When I glance over my shoulder to look at Xanthos, he is busy examining the room. The silver light emitting from the bow shows a partner of shadows to the ones my dagger has. Both sets of shadows dance gracefully with one another as we move. I hear him coming to a halt. I jog over to him as he lowers to the ground, his eyes squinting as be observes something. I kneel beside him, looking at the thick dark liquid on his fingers. “Blood?” I say, louder than I intended.

A door that makes the threshold its home slides shut and torches set at even intervals, high above our combined possible reach, ignite with fire. I tap Xanthos on the shoulder as I stare in shock at two of the other walls. Lining the bottom of two adjacent walls are dead children, along with the one we are kneeling in front of. They all wear different clothes from different eras. Among them are some fresh bodies. One of which I notice is still alive, lying in a pool of blood. She is no older than nine, to me guess she’s seven. Maybe eight…

A sudden cold rush of air whips over us like a tsunami. The wind current knocks out the fire on the torches and we are left in the dark with nothing but the glow of my dagger and his bow. That damn screech sounds again. It fades into a deeper pitch—a growl or a roar. In the farthest corner from where I am, I see a figure twitch. This figure has a body that reaches probably fifteen feet in the air. A pair of gold eyes appears out of the black. My grip tightens on Xanthos’s sweatshirt sleeve. There is only one thing this creature could be… _  
_

“That’s not Lamia.” I say, staring up at the creature.


	3. The Stymphalian Bird

_~Emma~_

 

 

The monster steps toward us. Its head twitches like a stereotypical bird. I have never seen or heard of a Stymphalian Bird in modern times. I thought they were all dead. Guess not, though now that I have truly laid eyes on a real _living_ one, I’m glad that its kind is not fully extinct.

This gigantic bird has feathers the color of gold and they almost look like harmless, weightless feathers that a normal bird has. I know feathers of the Stymphalian Bird are, in fact, not weightless and they are _not_ harmless. They are lethal and deadly and made of metal that the Bird can shoot at us and kill us at any time it wants. This majestic creature also eats mankind with its bronze beak. Oh what humanity would do to get ahold of this priceless bird? Fix that, what would humanity do if they knew this creature even existed, living among them?

I steal a glance at Xanthos beside me. He’s looking up at the Bird with a mixture of awe and fear. If one has not been in awe of the thing that might end up killing them whilst being in fear of it, one has not lived life to the fullest. I’m sure I’ve been in awe of other enemies on more than one occasion. Seeing how Xanthos looks up at the bird, I’m on the verge of both laughing my ass off and crawling under a rock from embarrassment. I know, for a fact, that I am well known for my facial expressions. I’ve worn that same expression on my own face before, and in front of other demigods. Only it probably looks three hundred times more ridiculous on me. _Zeus, strike me now…_

 _Stop thinking about how you look, Emma._ I snap at myself. _You are a warrior; you can’t be worrying yourself about that._ It’s true. Life or death is way more important than figuring out if my mouth is hanging open. I hate having ADHD.

I rise cautiously so I don’t startle the Bird. It twitches its head, scanning the both of us. Xanthos remains kneeling, though I can feel through his shoulder that he wants to stand up. If either of us spooks it, we blink once and it’s bye-bye demigod.

It was my New Year’s resolution to live through the year at least breathing. I also may have made the fatal mistake of swearing on the River Styx that I would follow through with it. I’m almost there. Why was I so stupid? _Focus!_

Yeah, and Xanthos wants me as a partner. Okay, cool.

“You know,” Xanthos whispers so quietly that I hardly hear him. “I wonder why it hasn’t yet tried to kill us.”

“I think you mean eat us.” I whisper back. The Bird looks at me and it hops twice, closer, so it can stare me down. The Bird, in my opinion, resembles this state’s well known yellow finch—which is my favorite bird, if I have to choose. This regal creature really is beautiful. Most people would most likely think me to be strange, what with calling a Bird regal and all.

“Yes. Sorry, I had not realized the means by which we are going to die were important in the current situation.” Well then, Mr. I’ve-Got-Enough-Sarcasm-To-Cut-With-A-Knife. That was much uncalled for.

“Well excuse me for sticking with the source material.” The Bird narrows its gaze and I think I can see something spark in the ellipse of a black pupil. I’m not sure what is it but it is quite mesmerizing. The edges of my vision start to mimic the movements like a kaleidoscope of shifting and changing colors and shapes—absolutely breath-taking. I begin to feel as if gravity has shut off and I am floating, not using a muscle. I feel relaxed, almost happy, content with everything in my life. I am suddenly in free fall. All around me are wondrous clouds of various colors like the ones out in space. I hold out my hands, spreading apart my fingers as I fall and the clouds feel soft and unexplainable.

I land in the arms of someone. This person’s limbs are strong, as if they are able to hold up the entire world for a thousand years. I open my eyes and see Xanthos. His bright silver eyes are wild with worry. His mouth forms the shape of my name as he tries to call out to me. I can hardly hear him. He mouths a full sentence and the only thing I am able to comprehend is the word ‘sorry’ before I am literally slapped back into reality. It isn’t seconds later that one of the worst migraines hits me like a brick. I feel like I might fall limp in his arms again.

He lies me down upon the cold floor. I see him stand with confidence as he pulls back the string on his bow, a twinkling arrow flies through the air like a shooting star, then he releases more and I’m watching a meteor shower of arrows being flung at the Stymphalian Bird by the bow. The Bird shrieks again and Xanthos stops throwing stars to turn back to me, kneeling at my side as I attempt to get off the ground. “Are you all right, Emma?” He asks with concern.

I use his shoulder to help me stand. At first I’m unbalanced then I feel his hand on my back, assisting me in leveling out my stance. I search around for my dagger. It somehow slid just behind the bird. _Perfect…_

I glance at Xanthos and he nods. I bend my knees, waiting for him to make his move. I hear him click his tongue many times to get the Bird’s attention and he shoots arrow after arrow at it, missing the creature yet grazing the metal feathers on its head. The Bird has its full attention on Xanthos.

Watching his every breath, every twitch of his muscles as he steps every time he blinks, and watching the area around my dagger, I await my turn. I’m getting antsy; I need my weapon. I feel empty without it. Finally, I see my chance as the Bird moves its right foot to face Xanthos head-on. I run a small handful of steps and tuck and roll under the Bird’s metallic bronze tail, ending in the kneeling position and gripping my dagger tight. The light had begun to fade until I wrap my fingers around the hilt and the blue gems glow to their fullest capacity, one I didn’t know it could reach until earlier. Be that as it may, I don’t understand what is setting it off so much.

“Should I kill it?” Xanthos asks with uneasiness. Should he? He keeps missing, so I wonder if he even can kill it.

I remember reading about this bird in an old book Heidi had forced me to read when I was ten. Every drawing of the Stymphalian Bird showed that they were hardly bigger than any normal bird. This thing is definitely _not_ the size of a regular bird.

“Um, Xanthos…” I say, waving my free hand at him, keeping a frightened gaze upon the monster.

“Yes?” He says nonchalantly, continuing to fire arrows and miss the Bird’s head.

“Have you ever read up on this beast?” I ask him.

He doesn’t answer for several seconds. He shakes his head. “No, why? You clearly have. Is there something you missed?”

“You could say that. It’s something massive. This Bird is supposed to be the size of any old bird you’d find flying around outside. It should not be this huge.” I tell him and I can feel the room temperature drop a few degrees as realization and more fear consume both of us. He darts over to me. I know we’re wondering the same thing: _How is it this big?_

What steroids has someone been feeding this monster to make it larger than life. So to speak...

“We need to kill it.” Xanthos says with absolute.

I shake my head. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“You and I seem to have a difference of opinion here. Are you out of your mind? This beast is dangerous and it’s bigger than the two of us combined. It will end up digesting us if we don’t end it right here.”

“Xanthos, think for a second. If this Bird-or these Birds—wanted to eat us, they would have done it already.” I say to him, looking at the Bird.

“So what is it doing?”

“That’s the million dollar question.”

“We need to figure it out.” He says, moving to stand almost completely in front of me so we can make eye contact. Pretty bold of him to put the thing he’s been agitating at his back. I search his face, those beautiful and mysterious silver eyes, his pale skin tone, the way his lips are slightly parted, and the way he holds himself so tall and confident even though his face reads otherwise.

Before I can state my theory, I tell Xanthos to try to shoot an arrow at the Bird.

“Are you bloody crazy? That will not solve anything.”

“Either you shoot an arrow or I run up and stab it. Pick one, because it doesn’t matter to me.” I threaten.

He glares at me. “You better be right.” He pulls back the string, aiming the arrow at the Bird. “And, by the way, I never miss.” Sure, okay, you want to tell that to all those arrows that missed the Bird? He releases and I stand there behind him as reality slows and the arrow inches closer and closer to the beast. The arrow pierces one of the gold eyes right in the center of the pupil. The Bird shrieks in agony while green-black blood sputters from the eye. This isn’t going as I had hoped.

Xanthos looks at me over his shoulder with an ‘ _I told you’_ expression on his face.

I hoped that the Bird was just some enchanted hologram…talk about wrong. Now the Bird is as real as ever and twice as angry.

 _Emma!_ I hear in the back of my head. What was that?

_Emma!_

I hear it again. It’s an excited tone of voice and a small one. Not many kids know me by name. The tone is what sets off every alarm in my being. Mason…

The only way I know I’m not completely crazy and hearing things is the look of confusion on Xanthos’s face as he gazes around to locate the source. His eyes end up on me.

The Bird explodes. Not in the way we want it to, though. It erupts into thousands of normal sized Stymphalian Birds, one of which falls dead on the floor before Xanthos’s feet with an arrow in its neck. The rest fly franticly overhead. Half the flock dives out the door and I know instantly they are going after Mason.

A bead of worried sweat runs down Xanthos’s temple. “I will hold off these ones, you go find the kid and save him. Emma, shut the door when you leave. Don’t open it until you hear silence.” His voice is firm, like the commanding officer of legions. _But you’ll die_ , I want to argue. Mason, your brother, or Xanthos, a guy who you’ve just met, I ask myself. I will save both of them if it’ll be the death of me.

I dash out the door and will it to shut after finding that there is no doorknob. I run down the darkened hallways with the glow of my dagger to guide me. “Mason!” I shout. I feel as if I am running through knee-high water. Actually, it isn’t just an inner feeling, it’s an external one. As I do a double take, I realize that I really am trudging through knee-high water that is so frigid I can feel the blood vessels in my body start to shut down, attempting to conceal all warmth in my blood. It is hard for a Child of Poseidon to move though icy water because Poseidon mostly represents warm waters. (What with the ancient meaning of ‘Sea’ being the Mediterranean Sea, but the term is now loosely used.)

I have to reach Mason before I completely shut down. My heart rate is increasing and decreasing at such infrequent intervals. I consider just sitting down and waiting the slow death that might be approaching. Then I hear Mason’s call for me, only this time it’s a question, a question filled to the brim with fear. He has given me a whole new strength that he will never understand. I try as hard as possible to run to him, my teeth chattering so loud I’m sure Australians can hear me. My head is pounding. I need to push on, for the god of my brother.

On the verge of giving up, I finally make it to the entrance where the water stops just before the threshold, like a glass panel is there, when in fact there isn’t. I see Mason peeking inside the doorway. Oblivious to the water, he steps in. I squint, noticing that he is dry and unharmed by the water building up. I’m lost until I figure out that the water isn’t really there.

I’m glad Xanthos isn’t here to see me look the way I did trudging through nonexistent water.

“MASON!” I call as loud as I can. He calls my name back to me, running at me. He should not be in here, though I’m just happy to see that he’s alive and unharmed. Realizing too late the wrongness of everything, the screeches of Stymphalian Birds whip by my ear along with the slicing of air. I pull Mason close to me in a hug so that if one of the Birds tries anything funny it’ll kill me and spare him. When everything is as still as last night in the warehouse, Mason wriggles out of my grasp to stand arm’s length away from me. Our faces are level as he looks at me with those big brown eyes.

“Emma, what was that?” He asks in his high pitched five year old voice.

“Danger.” I tell him. Why lie? “Mason, there is something you don’t know about me—”

“I know you’re my sister.” He interrupts, and then notices the large dagger in my hand. “Why do you have that?”

I ignore his question. “Yes, but I mean that I have special abilities. You know how I go out and come back late at night?” I wait for him to nod. “I’m out hunting monsters. And right now one is hunting us. I am going to protect you but you have to do as I say and stay as quiet as possible. Okay?” He nods again, looking all around with tears swelling in his eyes. _He’s strong enough. He can do it._ I tell myself. I know he can do it.

I stand with my knees bent, prepared to kill some birds. It sounds a lot harder than one might believe since these Birds’ feathers are made from metal. My gaze goes to every shadow surrounding us, partially because I want to avoid Mason’s eye contact. When my eyes fall to his, he is looking at me in awe, like a hero from a story I’ve read to him before bed. I’m overcome with emotion that he is looking at me like that. I’m no hero. Heroes are Achilles, Perseus, Theseus, Odysseus, Aeneas, Orpheus and so many others. I am nothing compared to them, yet he still looks at me like I’m equal, possibly greater than all of them.

I hear metal cutting air again and I turn just in time to see a feather of death flying straight at me. I duck, hearing it clatter against the stone and locking my gaze on my attacker. Fight or flight? I’m a demigod, and I am a Knight, I _do not_ flight. I fight. Even if that means fighting to the death, as long as I am doing it for something or someone I care about. I raise my dagger and swing, luckily the blade is long enough that I can do that.

I hit the Bird like a baseball to a baseball bat. The Bird smacks into the wall and slides down to the floor after being knocked off course. Just to make sure it’s dead, I stab and twist and pull out. That should do it.

“Cool.” Mason breathes as he stares at the dead Stymphalian Bird.

 _Oh, it’s cool alright. Cool until you’re poisoned and writhing on the floor suffering a slow, painful death._ Of course I don’t say that to him. I would if he were older.

I repeat the process with the next Bird, and then do it again and again and again for the next several until my arms start to tire. How else am I supposed to kill hundreds of metallic feathered, poisonous Stymphalian Birds? I take note of the black blood the Birds leave behind. I remember one of them heaving before I ended its life.

_If it bleeds, it can be killed. If it breathes, it can suffocate._

_What about suffocated with_ water _?_

“Mason,” I say, bending my knees so I’m eye level with him. “I’m going to do something. When I the word ‘now’, I need you to hold your breath until I tell you it is okay. Got it?” He nods. I sit him on the floor at my feet. Closing my eyes, I listen to the water flowing beneath the cracks in the stone floor and the walls. Just thinking about it, I hear the echo of the trickling liquid. My feet are getting wet. I drag the blade of my dagger over my left palm, instantly feeling blood seep to the surface of my hand like the water and the floor. I whistle, though not very well, to get the Bird’s attention. I will the water to come full force from the walls and floor. “Now!” I shout at Mason, who puffs up his cheeks while pinching his nose with his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut.

Cool water rushes and fills up the hallway quickly, but it doesn’t stop the Birds automatically. They fly frantically around, diving to get at my blood. When I find a few seconds of freedom and the water is just over my head, I create a bubble around Mason and I that separates air from water, keeping the air inside and extracting the water out.

I tap Mason on the shoulder and he glances up, cheeks still puffed. I give him thumbs up and he breathes in like it’s his first breath. He takes in with fascination the metallic Birds and he frowns when he realizes they are slowing down, that they can’t swim. I feel a twinge of guilt that he has to see such a magnificent sight, but being a five years old mortal, he already knows too much. I have no sympathy for the Stymphalian Birds, though. They tried to kill me and Xanthos, it’s only fair.

They begin to burst into ash. When they are all gone, I allow the water to seep back into the cracks of the floor and walls; both Mason and I are somewhat soaked.

Mason hugs my legs. “Thank you, Emmie.” I’m taken aback by the lack of accusation from him. After a few seconds, I run my fingers though his wet hair. “You’re welcome.”

A loud screech sounds in the distance, prefaced by a very human cry of pain. Mason holds his ears but I’m too busy trying to disentangle myself from my brother.

_Xanthos!_


	4. Playing Hero

_~Emma~_

 

“Mason,” I say. “I have one more thing to handle. Go wait upstairs, I’ll be right up.” He releases me—thank the gods—and leaves this world. When I know he’s gone for sure, I sprint back down the hallways to the room Xanthos is in, though I almost miss it because the door blends in with the wall. I place my hand on the door trying to find a way to open it. My Mark of Poseidon begins to burn and I wince, putting my other hand on the lower right side of my stomach. Thank the gods, again, the door opens.

Inside, I see that a significant amount of the group of Birds has been defeated. The ones that haven’t are going strong. Xanthos is on his back shooting arrows up at the Birds circling above him. He has new scratches, probably made from the claws on the Birds’ feet. A smaller one, the runt of the left over flock, hops silently in Xanthos’s blind spot. I imagine my dagger the size of a throwing knife. I feel the transformation under my grip, feel the shrinking of the blade. I don’t give it time to complete the shrinking when I throw the knife at the Bird, hitting it square between the eyes.

Xanthos looks wild-eyed at me like he thinks I meant to hit him until he finally sees the dead Bird. “You are a sight for sore eyes.” He tells me. I don’t have time to grin at him when I point to another Bird taking its dive for Xanthos’s face. He quickly shoots an arrow at it, killing it instantly. I want to use my previous plan, but I’m too weak from using that much power. I run to grab my knife-dagger when I feel a set of talons drag across the skin on my left cheek. I scream out in sudden pain and from being startled, falling to my knees, my hand instinctively flying to my cheek. “It’s all right.” He shouts. “Their talons are not poisonous!”

I pull my hand away to find it covered in thick red liquid. _Fantastic…_

Not wanting to glance up, I see that half of the flock is flying above me now, smelling my blood. I charge for my knife-dagger and grab it just in time to slash the head off of an oncoming Bird. “Xanthos, I hope you can shoot arrows faster than that!” I yell at him, wishing I had more knives.

He shoots me an _Oh please_ kind of look and pulls back on the bow’s string, four arrows appear. He releases and four Birds are killed. Now why was he not doing that earlier? I throw and retrieve my knife several times while Xanthos shoots multiple arrows at a time until they are all dead and we’re surrounded by dead metallic Stymphalian Birds that erupt into ash once by one. I relax my shoulders just as one final Bird chooses to attack my head.

I scream and flail my arms around trying to get the thing away from me so Xanthos can kill it. All of the sudden, my hair is tugged and both myself and the Bird fall. The Bird stands; looking for the source of what knocked it over because it most certainly was not me.

“Get away from my sister!” A small silhouette shouts from the doorway.

 _Gods…_ I think. Mason holds three rocks, throwing the one in his right hand at the Bird. I hear a clank when it hits the metal feathers and the Bird cocks his head to the side, wondering what it should do next. Mason walks up to the Bird without fear, his eyebrows knit together in anger. “Bad birdy!” He says to it. The Bird, still confused, studies my brother. “Go away!” He throws the other two rocks and the Bird turns to ash.

_Note to Self: Carry around a bag of rocks next time you go hunting monsters._

_Scratch that, bring Mason and tell_ him _to bring the bag of rocks._

“Mason,” I scramble up to pull him close. “What are you doing? I told you to wait upstairs.”

“I wanted to help.”

“Who is this?” Xanthos asks me.

I stand up. “This is my five year old brother, Mason. Mason, this is—“

“Theo,” Xanthos cuts in, looking me in the eyes.

“Is he a waterbender?” I laugh at the reference to _The Last Airbender._ After a pleading expression from Xanthos for help, I clear it up with Mason that he, is not, like me powers wise.

“Emma!” The loud Cajun shout from Heidi travels to us and I wince, realizing that there is no way for Xanthos is escape without her noticing him.

“Ready to meet the rest of my family?” I ask him.

He grins. It looks like he has to force the grin. “You did not give me enough time to get my lucky outfit and matching shoes.” I laugh ad guide Mason out the doorway with a hand on his back until he takes it upon himself to run ahead. When Mason is out of earshot, Xanthos pulls me close, both of us still walking.

“I think I was hit.” He whispers.

“So was I.”

“No,” he hisses in my ear. “I mean by a feather. I think I was hit by a feather…I can feel it…the poison running through my veins.”

I meet his eyes; our faces unacceptably close for two people who just met. He winces even though he is trying to hide the fact that he is trying his best to conceal the pain. Without saying another word I grab his hand, patches of calloused skin touch mine and I can only assume that his hand is like this because of how much he uses the bow. Hopefully Heidi has some kind of remedy to stop the poison from spreading. I cannot let him die. The one living being that understands me and has agreed to help me find a prophecy that I might be part of, and he is slowly slipping away. I will battle with Thanatos himself for Xanthos to keep his life.

And I’m a good person.

When we cross over the threshold, it’s like we just emerged from Jell-O, the feeling physically might not be fantastic at first, but mentally it’s reassuring. “Heidi!” I call out as I lead Xanthos up the stairs. I can feel his body temperature begin to fluctuate beneath his shirt as I help him stay standing. We are both met by the two shocked faces of Mom and Heidi as we enter the kitchen. They are both as pale as paper and unbelievably, Xanthos is paler than he naturally is—probably the color of a fluffy cloud in the summertime. Though he certainly does _not_ feel like a fluffy cloud.

“He’s been poisoned, heal him!” I demand at Heidi who takes a couple seconds to gather herself before heading up to the second floor to her room to collect her healing supplies. Mom reluctantly helps me walk Xanthos over to the couch. _Boy, you really need to give us some help._ As soon as he’s down with a comfortable pillow stuffed under his head, my mother drags me back to the kitchen with an iron grip on my bicep. I peel off her fingers and give her a look that communicates the phrase: _What the hell?_

“I should be asking you that same question, Emmalyn!” She whisper shouts in that way mothers usually do when they want to yell at you but they don’t want anyone else to hear what she feels she needs to say. “Do you know what he is?”

Ever since my mother and father met, Mom has been very significant when it comes to spotting a demigod and who their godly parent is. “I know that he is a demigod who is severely injured and could very possibly be dying.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean! I know that he is the Son of Artemis, he bares the Mark. He did just save my life and I have to return the favor, so leave it alone for right now, okay?”

She looks shocked then glares at my dagger, which I make a big dramatic how of turning it back into pendent size. Hooking it around my neck, I stalk out of the room. Heidi is already there, working her healing magic. She once told me that Hecate herself had trained her in everything she knows, all of her knowledge and talent came from the goddess. Sometimes I call BS on it, but then she pulls stunts like this and I have to reconsider.

“Emma,” Xanthos croaks. There’s a red slash on the center of his chest, seeping through the torn fabric of his shirt. “Open the door and get the vial outside. Hand it over to me.” I obey, bringing an odd clay vial with a cork keeping it sealed to him. He opens it while attempting to sit up and Heidi glares at him like he should know better than to do something so foolish. Heidi takes it out of his hands before he can do anything with it.

“Boy, what is this?” She asks him, her voice as Cajun as Cajun can get.

“Lunar Dust.” He answers breathlessly, his eyes darting from the vial to her eyes. I watch as Heidi reaches for a wooden bowl on the floor, emptying the Lunar Dust into the bowl along with some scented water that has the aroma of both a field of flowers in May and a decaying body, and some crushed up herbs. She also places a thick black liquid in with the concoction—seven drops worth.

“Is that— _ichor_?” I lean forward to get a better view.

“Yes.” She answers too simply, too focused on her work. Suddenly flames the color of pure blood rise from the bowl, though the container itself doesn’t disintegrate into ash.

“But that’ll kill him.” I argue and she hands me a cup full of liquid that looks like honey. It’s nectar.

“No it won’t. I know what I’m doing, _cher._ Now sit down and be ready, he’ll need help with drinking it. You give it to him no sooner and no later than when I say so, got it?”

I nod, sitting on the couch beside Xanthos, waiting for her command. Flames still licking the air, she holds the bowl just inches from his face. “This won’t taste good, and there will be pain.” That’s my Aunt Heidi, never afraid to tell the truth. He stares at the bowl with uneasiness between winces.

She places the edge of the bowl to his lips and tips it up, the ingredients flowing into his mouth. His eye close tightly as the mixture slides down his throat and he struggles to get away, but we hold him down. She takes it away and I almost jump at the opportunity to give him the nectar.

“Not yet,” She warns, watching him.

Sweat beads out on his forehead and neck. He grinds his teeth. Then he screams out. “It burns!” He screams, and screams, and screams. Blood runs out of his nose and Heidi finally give me the okay. I force him to drink the nectar. He turns his head away and I panic, eventually getting him to drink it. He calms after a few gulps. When I remove the cup, his head falls onto my shoulder. I’m not sure if he’s asleep or dead until he sits up quickly, eyes wide.

“How do you feel?” I ask him.

His gaze meets mine and we sit there, staring at each other. Xanthos licks his lips before he answers, “Better. I feel better.” He turns to Heidi and thanks her.

“You’re welcome, honey.”

I retreat to the bathroom to retrieve a cold wash cloth and the first aid kit. Taking my spot next to Xanthos’s left I realize with a jolt that in order to patch up the wound he needs to take off his shirt. To avoid the awkwardness of asking, I dab the wash cloth to his forehead. After about a minute I have to ask. “Xanthos, um…I need…uh, the wound…you—“

“Just take your shirt off so she can bandage your scar.” Heidi says from finishing cleaning up her supplies. My face grows red but he removes both his sweatshirt and his t-shirt. Heidi leaves the room and he touches my wrist before I can tape the cotton to his chest.

“Just for show, you can put the bandage over the wound. Put the Lunar Dust on the bandage so the wound will heal faster.” He pauses, handing over the clay vial. “Please.”

Pouring the vial of Lunar Dust onto the cotton, I clean the wound and cover it. From the corner of my eye I can see my mom standing in the doorway biting her nail, acting like Xanthos is a ticking time bomb about to hit zero. “So,” She says once Heidi returns. “Why are you in my house…” She trails off, not knowing what to call him.

He puts the shirt back on and zips the sweatshirt completely. “My name is Theo.”

“Appropriate,” I hear Heidi mutter under her breath and I glare at her, though she ignores me.

Xanthos didn’t seem to hear her comment because he slides right over it, explaining how he was hunting a monster and tracked it here, unknowing it was our house. He told Mom and Heidi about his intentions on leaving the places spotless so the owners had no idea anything happened.

“Theo, does your father know you hunt monsters? Does he know you put yourself into danger like that?” Heidi asks, glancing at me.

Xanthos looks down at his hands. “My father died five years ago.”

“Who do you stay with? Does your mother know about it?” I feel bad for Xanthos having to be interrogated by my mother.

Xanthos looks up at her with the most sincere face plaster on. I know he’s preparing himself to lie about something. “I live with my uncle. He should actually be home from his shift soon. I need to get back before him or he’ll worry.” Xanthos stands, as do I to block his pathway to the door.

I study his face. “You’re lying. You don’t live with your uncle, do you? You live alone.” He stares at me in defeat. I glance over my shoulder at Mom then back to him. “Theo,” I say, remembering that he gave Heidi and Mom a different name. “You’re welcome to crash here for the night if you want to.” I whisper. Mom gasps. I know it’s her because she’s the one with the biggest problem when it comes to Xanthos’s mother.

“I really couldn’t do that—”

“Sure you can!” Heidi pipes up from beside my mother. I give her a mental high five for taking my side in this matter. “You did, in fact, save my niece’s life.” She looks pointedly at Mom.

Xanthos keeps his steady gaze on me as he speaks to Mom and Heidi. “You both need to know that Emma here saved my life as well, including Mason’s.”

Mom’s eyes widen and skitter to me. “Mason was down there with you?”

I hold my hands up as if that gesture will help me if she lunges at me. “Mason came downstairs looking for me. Bad parenting is how he got down there.”

She doesn’t calm down at my sarcastic comment. She does let the subject go.

“Theo, you’re staying here tonight. We’re going out to eat. Do you like Bar-B-Q?” Heidi doesn’t give him a choice on whether or not he’s staying.

“Um, yes.” He makes the statement sound like a question.

“Great.” She moves into the kitchen to grab the car keys and Mason. Mom leaves the room to get her coat. I can still feel Xanthos’s eyes on me and when I look up at him he immediately turns away.

“I apologize if I have been a burden.” He whispers.

I shake my head. “You most certainly are not.”

“I could have gotten you killed.”

I step closer to him. “Xanthos,” I whisper. “Do you realize how many times a week I put myself in the face of danger? I should have died about four thousand times and that’s an understatement. If I die early it’s because of a mistake I make, not one someone else did. Plus, I’d wait at the River if it was your fault.” I nudge him with my elbow and he grins.

The five of us pile into Mom’s navy blue minivan and head off to Mason and I’s favorite Bar-B-Q restaurant: _Famous Dave’s_. On the drive there, Mom and Heidi are silent and I catch their glances at each other and in the Mirror at Xanthos every so often. It hurts me because the looks are of uneasiness and distrust.

I am forced to sit between Mason and Xanthos even after the heated disagreement because Mason wanted to be beside Xanthos. He only agreed because I told him he’d sit next to him in the restaurant. The entire ride was spent with the three of us playing the License Plate Game. (Which Mason “won”. Xanthos is the real winner.)

I slide into the booth first, Xanthos doing the same after me, and in hot pursuit of him is Mason. After the waitress, whose name is Cora, takes our drink orders, Mason asks Xanthos to tell a story about one of his adventures. I must admit, for a five year old, Mason has an exquisite memory. He’ll be an intellectual one when he grows up. I better start researching some things to get ahead of him while I still can.

Xanthos grins politely down at my little brother and asks him what kind of story Mason would like to hear. I wonder if Xanthos has any little brothers or sisters because he gives off that big brother aura around Mason.

Mason asks for his most recent adventure and Xanthos goes on to tell him about the night I met him, only from his perspective. He starts off by telling him his journey to the warehouse, animating it up to make it more interesting. When he reaches the part where he meets me, he uses the term ‘princess’, possibly so only he and I know who it really is. Mason listens intently with wide sparkling eyes and a large ear-to-ear smile on his face.

By the time Xanthos is finished with his tale, the tables around us have listened in as well in deep fascination. If there were an award for storytelling, Xanthos would have to get the gold.

We spend the rest of the evening listening to him talk about his “adventures”. I sometimes have a hard time deciphering what could be true and what is false, what names are covered up for protection and if a person was really him or not. I can see the stories display themselves before my eyes and I feel like I actually experienced it. He does cause some outward emotion within our eating zone. (Some aws, some laughs, some tears.) Yeah, it is an understatement that Xanthos is amazing at painting a picture.

I overhear from the table diagonal from us—where an older couple in their sixties sits—the woman say to her husband, “They really do make a beautiful couple. I hope they’re together for a long time.” My face reddens and I look down at my food. The weight of Xanthos’s concern lowers on me. I half grin up at him to reassure him that I’m fine and he continues on, explaining how he rode a dolphin out to battle ancient pirates.

It’s nine-thirty by the time we get back home and Mom hurries Mason off upstairs. He resists at first, turning back around, running to Xanthos. He hugs Xanthos’s legs. “Thank you.” He says aloud. Xanthos scratches Mason’s head, messing up his curly brown hair. Mason tugs on the hem of his shirt and Xanthos bends down. He whispers something in Xanthos’s ear and Xanthos nods. “I will.” He tells my brother.

“Promise?”

“I swear upon the River Styx.”

I swallow hard after gasping. Mason doesn’t understand the severity of the oath Xanthos just made. Grave and dangerous consequences hang on the other side of this broken oath for Xanthos.

“Pinky promise?” Mason asks, holding up his small pinky finger. Xanthos laughs and they link pinkies. I miss the days where if someone broke a pinky promise the world ended. They were the easier days.

Mason looks up at me, grinning from me to Xanthos and back. “Thank you Emma. I love you.”

I kiss his forehead. “I love you too, buddy.”

My mother and Heidi say goodnight to the two of us then the three of them head up the steps for bed.

“I means a lot to him,” I say when they are out of ear shot. “The stories, I mean. I fear the day he has to find out that all monsters are real and around every corner. What you told him tonight, that give him hope.”

Xanthos nudges me lightly and grins, looking at me sideways. “I don’t think he is the only one who walked away hopeful tonight. And the world is not full of just monsters, Emma. There are heroes and heroines as well. Evil does not lurk in every corner for no reason, just like good does not rescue and protect for the heck of it. Good and evil run hand in hand. Sometimes it is easy to see whose life is run by the darkness of the black stallion or the light of the white dove, other times you need to get to know the or thing to find out. You also shouldn’t be so worried about Mason being unprotected. He has his own heroine looking after him twenty four-seven.”

Xanthos does have a point. I would do anything to protect my brother.

I move toward the couch then turn back. “You can sleep on the couch, the recliner,” I point to the black leather chair that seats like a throne made of clouds beside Xanthos, “or in the other room there is a futon.” He smiles again. He has quite an amazing smile, one that could make stars fall from the sky.

“I’ll take the recliner.” He maneuvers around and sits down. His face instantly goes slack with the pleasure of relaxation. “I mean, I’ll take the recliner home with me when I leave.” He turns his head to look at me. “You know, as a souvenir. I did save your life, right?” I throw a pillow at him then a fleece blanket with the Avengers on it.

He slips off his shoes, placing them by the door. I unfold another fleece blanket, this one themed with the TARDIS on it. “You like Doctor Who, too?” He asks me.

“No, I found this on the side of the road and decided to keep it. I don’t even think Doctor Who is that good of a show.”

“Hey now, that’s my show you are talking smack about.”

“Yes, I do love the show. Want to watch?”

“Why do you even have to ask?”

I flip the television on and select a recorded episode of Doctor Who. At some point during the night—probably into the third episode—we both fall into a deep sleep.


	5. Visions In the Night

_~Emma~_

 

I don’t know where exactly I am. I don’t really know how I got here either—wherever _here_ is. I am a trained demigod of almost seven years; I know how to figure this out. How can I locate where I am if I’m surrounded by complete and utter darkness? I take a step forward, my feet are bare and the ground under my toes is loose and smells like rich earth. (It’s something that would be way more appealing to a Child of Demeter.) There’s one other thing: I smell…water. Fresh water and I can hear the fast current rushing against the bank and over smooth rocks. The sound is beautiful; I instantly feel calm, knowing that I have some kind of defense if I’ going to be attacked. I run toward the sound of the rushing stream, the music of the water getting louder the closer I am.

My right foot hits cool liquid and I am at home. My Mark of Poseidon begins to glow a bright turquoise color and I can see my surroundings in the dim light. I am in some kind of forest, but what forest is quiet—especially at night?

Multicolored lightning flashes across the sky, dancing with thunder. I actually have to shield my eyes from the ferocity of the lightning’s brightness. Shelter; I have to find shelter. I’m in a stream in a forest, so there could be a cave at one end. A problem with this is which end of the stream would the cave be?

I’m taking a big risk with this theory. I could be searching for years and never coming across anything.

 _Psst_.

I look up at the treetops, where the sound came from. A dark figure falls into the water then stands, unharmed. The figure is a boy with torn up shorts and no shirt. I can see that he, too, bears the Mark of Poseidon. Only his is on the outside of his right leg. He reaches for my hand and I back away two steps. He tilts his head to the side as if I should know who he is. Like it’s uncommon for me to do such a thing as back away from him. _I know where you need to go_. I hear in my head. It’s him; he’s talking to me through our minds. That is impossible though, only demigods with an unbelievably profound bond can communicate through thought. Who is this guy?

Once again, he reaches for my hand. This time I allow him to take it. He darts down the stream with me at approximately an arm’s length behind him. He took me completely by surprise. Thank the gods he didn’t rip my arm out of its socket. We run for about five minutes before he slows down, turning and placing a finger to his lips. His free hand still grasps mine in a warm embrace. A quarter mile more of walking later, we come across a gigantic cave, one with torches on either side of the entrance. At the highest point of the entrance are two drinking horns with a skull in between. I look to the boy beside me. Even though he is this close to me, I can only see the bottom half of his face, for darkness hugs the top half.

_Please, don’t do anything stupid. I can’t risk losing you, too. Just please, do not die, for me?_

His mental voice is sad and a part of me wants to hug him, tell him that I would never leave him, but that is the half of me that is compassionate side of me. My reserved side tells me to blow this guy off, run back down the river because this is probably a trap. The only thing that keeps me from ditching this gathering is his sad, pleading gaze looking upon me as if this could be our final meeting. His gaze is too sincere to his words. He pulls me close to him, gently placing a kiss on my forehead—it’s a light kiss, like he is afraid I will pull away again.

He unsheathes a sword and hands it to me. Grabbing a torch in my left hand while holding the sword with my right, I take one last look at the boy, the top part of his face is still engulfed in by unnatural darkness.

I enter the cave.

All of the sudden I am thrown into a new location. This one is way more frightening on way more levels than the last one. All around me is the sound of arrows being shot, swords hitting swords, screaming, crying. Battle. These are the horrid sound of battle, and I have landed in the very middle of it. _It’s just a dream, Emma. You’re dreaming. That’s all._

Then why does it feel so real?

If this is just a dream, shouldn’t I be able to change it?

I am lying on my back in the sand. I roll over to stand up and am greeted by a falling dead body, blood dripping out of the soldier’s mouth. She was hit by arrows. A girl sitting on a golden stallion glares down from the top of a cliff. Her hair is so long it reaches her waist and she wears all white except for a gold cloak. Blood is easily seen, even at my distance from her, on her clothes which I soon figure are really her armor.

Mixed emotions surge through me and they are so incredibly strong: pain, shock, disgust, disbelief, and the need for her blood to be on my sword and my hands. Why do I feel like this toward her? I don’t even know who she is.

“You should have listened to my father, Emmalyn.” You cannot change the prophesized.” She calls down to me. The last thing I see are three golden arrows flying at me with incredible speed.

The vision quickly shifts to a new location at the same battle. Before me is the girl on the gold stallion. She sits confidently at quite a distance from a boy. He, too, wears a cloak and is on a stallion, though his cloak and horse are black and there is an eerie glow around him. His cloak shimmers like the night sky. His hood is drawn over his head to conceal his identity. Even then, I still think I know him.

 _I’m sorry._ I remember him saying to me from a while ago. I know that voice. It’s Xanthos. My feet take control and begin to move forward to get to Xanthos but a pair of arms wraps themselves around me. “No, Emma. This has to happen. It has to be him.” A deep voice says in my ear.

“NO! It must be a different generation.” I struggle to get out of the iron grip around me but it’s no use. “He’ll die! Do you really want that?”

“Of course I don’t!” The voice growls in my ear. “There is nothing I can do to stop it.”

“There has to be a way.” I whisper, no longer struggling because it is too late. I watch in unnamable fear as Xanthos and the girl ride straight at one another. They don’t have swords at the ready. Just bows. I watch until they both fire at the same time and I turn away, tucking my face into the fabric of the voice’s shirt. Why are all of these strong emotions for Xanthos flowing through me? I’ve only known him a few hours.

I move to get what may be my last image of Xanthos when everything disappears and I am left alone, in the cold darkness of Zeus knows where. Screams of misery are barely audible and I have to strain to hear them, but every time I try to hear them, they vanish. A chill runs down my spine like a ghost seductively dragging its fingers down my spine. I look down and see thick white-gray fog swirl lazily around my ankles.

Before me, gigantic flames erupt inside of what looks like a glass fish tank, minus the fish. Instead, souls of the forgotten and the forbidden lull around aimlessly, bumping silently into the sides of the glass and lazily turning around. Some of them lay eyes on me and they press their faces against the glass with their mouths wide like they’re trying to suck my soul out of my body. I look down at the bottomless floor as if disconnecting our eye contact will make them stop.

“Step forward!” a deep voice bellows, causing me to jump. “Up to the podium.”

I search around, seeing no podium until a ball of light appears in front of my face, beckoning em to follow it. I step forward, uneasy as to whether or not the ground will give under my weight. A podium rises out of the fog, a mahogany stand with some of the most intricate and beautiful etchings and engravings on it. I am just about to bend down so I can examine them more closely when a second voice booms and I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Emma Knight!” How does it know my name? Three men appear out of the darkness, sitting at the top of the twenty foot tall soul tank like it’s a table. Fear makes my heart leap. Before me sits the three judges of the Underworld—Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanthus—which means I’m about to be judged for my actions as a demigod.

Wait…it also means that…I’m dead.

“Emma!” Rhadamanthus shouts, sitting on the far right end of the table.

“Be gone to the Fields of Punishment!” Minos declares, rising a judge’s hammer.

“What?” I shout back, gripping the sides of the podium. “That isn’t fair! I haven’t caused havoc! I haven’t done any wrong. I deserve a fair trial!”

Aeacus looks down at me, as stunned as a dead king can be. “I beg to differ, Miss Knight. You have created such havoc that you have caused the death of Kyros Orpheus, Theo Hunter, Olivia Trinity—and that is just three of the many names you’ve ended. Murder and destruction, you are a threat to everyone: mortals, demigods and gods alike. What evidence do you have to support that you deserve a fair trial? What evidence do you have that will save you from the Fields of Punishment?”

I don’t know how to respond. Who are those people he listed? “You have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Impossible!” Rhadamanthus slams his fist down on the glass tank’s top so hard and with such ferocity that I flinch, afraid the glass will shatter, sending souls floating after me. The souls inside the tank no longer look lazy and tired and miserable. They stare at me with a ravenous, savage and bloodthirsty gleam in their dead eyes as they beat the tank walls like a heartbeat against a rib cage. I take a slight step backward; loosening my grip on the wooden podium, planning an escape route though I cannot see passed the three judges. I won’t be making it very far if I run the other way either, they’ll just send Hell Hounds into the darkness.

My name is called out behind me followed by the rattling of heavy chains. I turn around just in time to see a person hauled in by—speak of the devil—two enormous Hell Hound. He is tall and buff for someone who looks to be about my age. His green eyes rest on mine and I can just make out a thin scar running over his left eye. Blood seeps through his torn white shirt from a bite would.

His gaze rests on me, desperate and sympathetic. “Don’t listen to them. You didn’t cause this.” I want to believe him, yet his tone says otherwise, like it _shouldn’t_ have been me when it _was_ me. It was my fault. He may speak and look like he doesn’t want to believe it, but he knows. He’s in denial. I have never seen this boy before in my life, though I feel so connected to him. It’s almost like we’ve spent our whole lives together. He could know me from my footsteps and my breaths. And I feel the same toward him.

“Silence, Kyros!” Minos commands. The boy—Kyros—ignores him.

“Emma, this wasn’t your fault. You deserve more than this. Fight for that trial, fight for your life!” One of the Hell Hounds snaps at him and Kyros tightens his eyelids closed, like if the Hell Hound were to bite him and it be his last pain that he ever felt, he would endure and accept it. “You’ve given everything you can to those around you; _for_ those around you. It’s about time you give for yourself. Stop putting everyone before you, Emma, before the consequences get too harsh. That is the worst kind of punishment. The kind where you give everything you can—your strength, courage, selflessness, intelligence—and all you get in return is an eternity of pain and regret and loathing whether it is aimed at yourself or others. You do not deserve that! Don’t let them win!” The second Hell Hound clamps its jaw around Kyros’s neck and all I can hear echoing through the fabric of time and light and sound are his screams of pain.

Blood pours from his new wound. Kyros keeps living on to feel the pain and the Hell Hound shakes its head a little to infuse more. I close my eyes, turning back to the three judges. “Stop this.” I say quietly and when I get no response I open my eyes to glare at them, and I yell, “Let him go!”

“Why should we?” Aeacus grins down, snapping his fingers once and the first Hell Hound bites into Kyros. “He is entitled to it.”

I take a shaky breath. “Release him. Release him, and I will go to the Fields of Punishment.” I wait for their response which drones on in silence. Minos looks to his friends on his left and right, nodding to both of them. Aeacus claps twice and the screaming dies down, replaced by groans of recovery. I hear the clanging of metal against metal and I am whipped around to be greeted by a bleeding Kyros squeezing my shoulders. He looks alarmingly into my eyes, searching for any signs of bluff. Blood streams out of his wounds and out of his mouth, dying his skin, lips, teeth, and tongue red.

“Why?” He asks; his voice cracking. His eyes shimmer with tears.

“I had to.” I whisper, looking at the fog wrapping itself around our ankles. “I’m sorry.”

He places his hand on my chin, tilting my face upward so our gazes can fuse together. He sniffles and laughs an ever so delicate laugh. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for anything you do.” He wipes the blood from his mouth onto the back of his hand and then pulls my head forward.

Just before his lips touch my forehead, I wake up.


	6. Orion

_~Emma~_

 

_One Week Later_

I haven’t seen Xanthos since the night he stayed at my house. He had politely thanked my mother and Heidi for the hospitality, walked me to school and that is the last I’ve seen of him. I still hear from him. He took my number and programmed it into his phone. Every hour on the hour for the past seven days he has texted me, asking if I am okay or making sure that I am safe. He had almost gotten me in trouble during math class. We were taking a test that was worth ten percent of our grade and Xanthos, keeping up this odd protective demeanor, texted me. He texted me back five minutes later when I didn’t respond to the first message. This went on for three more times before my math teacher glared up at me. Thank the gods there was a fire drill right then—talk about saved by the bell.

Mason keeps asking about Xanthos, when would he be coming back, if he would come over for dinner. To be frank, I’m actually getting a little bit jealous of Xanthos. Mason is giving him all of this attention that I hardly get. It makes me feel bad that I’m not the older brother Mason clearly wants. I can’t tell Mason adventure stories like Xanthos can because Mason has already heard all of mine. (He just doesn’t know those bedtime stories are true.) It hurts, really, and it is not any help that Mom secretly hates what I am; now Mason doesn’t have an interest in me like he used to. Who knows, maybe Heidi is waiting for the moment to pin something huge on me and get me in trouble with Zeus.

I sit on my front porch, watching the stars begin to blaze as the night wakes up. I still think about the images of my dream nights ago. They haunt me; the voices, the faces, the dialogue, the locations. I can’t help wondering if what I saw were prophecies. It isn’t unlikely for a Child of Poseidon to possibly get the prophetic gift. It’s just uncommon and this is the first time any of my dreams have occurred like that. It would be a nightmare if what I saw were bits and pieces of the future. The only face I even remotely recognized was Xanthos’s. Speak of the devil, I feel my phone vibrate and I look at the screen. Yup, it’s Xanthos. It reads:

_Are you safe?_

What should I tell him? That I have been haunted by a dream that might be prophetic, predicting my future, even his? Maybe my dream is a part of the prophecy Xanthos and I are hunting for. I answer back with another question.

_Where are you?_

Not thirty seconds after I hit send, he replies. _That is not an answer._

_Yes. I’m fine. Where are you?_

A full minute goes by and I get nervous. It isn’t safe for demigods to use technology, though I do anyway. Whether it is to draw the monsters to me so I can kill them or because I want to be a rebel teenager and the only way to do that is to use a cell phone, I don’t know. His response: _Why?_

I want to throw my phone across the lawn. Why are you being so secretive? I was to ask, instead I type out: We _need to talk_

 _On my way_ is his immediate response. Thank the gods Mom and Heidi are out of town for the weekend and Mason is in bed early. I have been having issues when it comes to falling asleep, afraid that the strange dreams will keep occurring. The best way to show someone there is nothing to fear is to show them you are not afraid. I don’t need Mason freaking out for three days because I am freaking out. There is only room for one of us to freak out and at least I know how to hide it.

Closing my eyes is a challenge, but I accomplish it, resting my eyelids and trying to stay awake all at once. I open them ten minutes later to the sound of a motorcycle pulling up on the sidewalk in front of my house. The rider silences it, kicking out the stand and removing his helmet. Xanthos’s familiar face appears under the protective headwear. On his shoulders he wears what looks to be one of the most expensive leather jackets I have ever laid eyes on. On his hands are gloves with the fingers cut off halfway and he has on black biker boots. So I have seen both the innocent, everyday teenage side of Xanthos, and the arson side of him.

I raise an eyebrow at him, glancing from him to his ride as he walks up my front lawn. “Who are you trying to impress?” I ask with a sly half grin on my face. He walks up the three steps and sits on the large cooler I am using as a footrest. His eyes graze over me many times, looking for signs of injury. “I told you that I’m fine.”

“What did you want to talk about then?” He asks, his British accent cracking, making his cheeks redden.

“I need an outside voice to tell me that I’m just being paranoid.” I say and he looks lost. I explain to him the dream I had the night he stayed with us using intricate detail. Throughout my storytelling his face doesn’t change from stone cold interest. I want to slap him because I now feel inferior when I tell a story thanks to him. I sit up and he leans forward, searching for… _something_.

Our faces are inches apart and I can see every detail in his face, every line in his irises and every pore in his pale skin.

“I do not think you are paranoid.”

There is an unexpected crack and I feel my knuckles prickle a bit. Xanthos falls sideways, landing in a perfectly caught kneeling position with one hand on the left side of his face.

“What the hell?” He asks loudly, turning back with wild eyes, the black of his pupils are the tiny size of dust particles for a few seconds before they grow back to normal size.

“I called you here for you to tell me I was overreacting, maybe even that I am insane. Not for you to tell me that my reaction is perfectly sane and probable.” I say angrily.

“And that requires you to punch me?” He argues, stumbling to stand back up.

“I think it does. Say one more thing and I’ll show you just how _probable_ I can react.” I say through gritted teeth, standing in front of him and putting my fist in the air at the ready. With his hand still on his face, he laughs.

“I like you, Princess. You know, there are people I have come across that, had you punched them, you would have been either punched twice as hard or lying in your own running pool of blood. Be glad it was only me. At least,” He wipes off his jeans, “now I know not to anger you.”

I retrieve my phone off the ground and open the front door. Xanthos follows and I put a finger to my lips, signaling him to be quiet. “Mason is asleep upstairs.” Hopefully…

“So,” Xanthos pops down in the recliner, closing his eyes. “What about the dream scares you?”

I roll my eyes. It seems with some people you can’t simply beat around the bush and let them infer with what is on your mind. I take a seat on the couch and answer his questions. “I’m afraid that it is a prophetic dream.”

Xanthos stares at me like I just spoke a different language or grew a second head, then he laughs. “Okay, you are crazy.” I want to punch him again. As if he heard my thoughts, he says, “I thought you wanted me to say that to you. Why do you look like you want to rip off my face?”

At the mention of his face, I notice the beginning of a bruise forming on his cheek, the flesh red. Guilt swells inside of me. I’m not quite sure what came over me then, but I did it and I can’t take it back. The playful grin on his face fades as he gazes sadly down at his hands. He is holding something back. I study him, looking for any telltale signs that could possibly give away what he is thinking.

A surprising chill runs down my spine, a signal that something is wrong and it isn’t whatever Xanthos is hiding. I glance around with the disturbing feeling that we are no longer alone. Some other intelligence is listening in.

“Emma, there is something you should know,” He begins. I pick up my phone and shoot him a text. “For the past two months I—”

Xanthos stops talking when his phone goes off. He gives me an apologetic look then reads my text. His head bobs up and down ever so slightly that I feel as if I have imagined it. He walks over to me, gingerly grabbing my hand and lifting me to my feet. He pulls me close; making it seems as if we are hugging. Well, we _are_ hugging, but I know that it’s supposed to be a ruse.

“I want you to go upstairs, grab Mason, and meet me in the basement.” He whispers. I casually part from him, walking up the creaking stairs, trying to act normal while my thoughts race my heart for first place.

Opening Mason’s door, I gather him and his blanket in my arms and carry him down into the basement. For a five year old boy my brother is surprising light. I reach the basement before Xanthos. I pull out and unravel a sleeping bag, awkwardly committing the act so I don’t drop Mason before I can set him down. I don’t want him to wake with a start and me not be ready, causing him to fall on the concrete floor. As I make sure Mason at least looks comfortable, I hear a voice. It’s a whisper—a mere memory of the body it may have inhabited before.

_Come here. Closer. We want you._

I feel uncomfortably exposed all of the sudden, unsure of what variation of the word ‘want’ it could be using. I really hope Xanthos gets his ass down here and fast.

 _We are everywhere, Emma._ A high-pitched giggle soon follows, echoing and bouncing off the cement walls. I swear on the River Styx, if Xanthos is playing a trick on me or just sent Mason and me to our deaths, I will kill him. And then I will haunt him in the afterlife as well, making him miserable. I rip off my pendent and will it to grow into a sword, the gems glowing but not as bright this time.

The six-year-old-little-girl-in-a-horror-movie giggle continues. _She thinks she’s brave. You will never kill us. We will get you first._

I grip my sword’s hilt in my right hand with white knuckles. I glance frantically in all directions, not knowing where and who my enemy is—or even when they’re going to attack. Out of nowhere an invisible and icy hand sweeps my hair away from my shoulder and I feel a pair of the coldest lips on my neck. I promptly swing my sword blindly around me, hoping that just maybe it’ll connect to something. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.

I back up to stand—hopefully—between the intruders and Mason, acting as a barrier. A whistle flies by my ear and the feeling of a snake slithering up my arm becomes noticeable. Frantically, I wipe at my arms to desolate the feeling. It doesn’t vanish. The scaly underbelly of a nonexistent snake continues to slide up my arm, over my shoulder and up my neck. My heart rate increases. _Snakes, why did it have to be_ snakes?

“Show yourselves!” I scream, unable to hide the fear as I attempt to ignore the invisible serpent. Giggling floats again and I shiver. _Xanthos, where are you?_ I silently beg. I try to get away from the giggling by moving around in in circles, ending up with my back against one of the large posts. I slide down to the floor, dropping my sword on the ground and covering my eyes.

“Get away from here!” A furious shout rises from the stairs. The sound of air being sliced whips by my ear and I look up to see a silver arrow stuck halfway into something invisible and about three feet in height. I peek around the post to see Xanthos finishing his descent on the steps. He holds out a hand to me, his face plastered with anger and confidence. He leads me over to Mason, motioning for me to kneel down.

His face is so close to mine that I can feel his warm breath when he whispers, “I need you to cover your eyes and make sure Mason’s eyes are covered as well.” I take Mason and zip him inside of the sleeping bag, leaving a hole so he can still breathe. I gather him in my lap and bend my head down until I can feel the methodical rise and fall of his chest, closing my eyes.

I hear Xanthos whistle and I suddenly feel as if I am inside a bubble of purified air. Something taps my shoulder. My muscles tense and my heart jumps in reaction to fear that it’s the invisible voices come to finally take away my soul. I feel a gentle hand on my back and I lift my head, trusting that it’s Xanthos’s hand. He grins down at me, his head leaning to one side. He straightens and holds out his hand once more, helping me to stand. As soon as I’m up, he lets my hand go, moving his touch to my shoulder. “Watch this.” He says to me.

All around Mason, Xanthos and I is a large bubble. Outside the force field is the most beautiful and celestial deer I have ever seen. It doesn’t have a body like any other deer I’ve ever seen. This one appears how I imagine the soul of a living thing to look like. It moves with such grace and determination as it hardly ever touches the cement floor. Behind it travels a pathway of silver dust that sparkles from reflecting the deer’s light.

_Lunar Dust._

As if Xanthos heard my thoughts, he leans over and says, “That is Lunar Ash.”

I don’t look up at him as I step forward, as close to the barrier as I can get. _So this is what being a fish it like._ I think to myself. The Ash floats around finding my invisible attackers and sticking to them so I can see where they’re at. This creature is jaw dropping beautiful and so are the abilities it possesses. Well, that might just be because it’s killing whatever was after me.

“What is it?” I ask under my breath.

Xanthos steps up beside me. “Kobaloi. Though why they were after you and not Mason baffles me considering—”

“No, I mean the—”

“Oh,” Xanthos says. “That is an offspring of the Ceryneian Hind. This one has the powers of the Lunar Ash Tree.”

“He is so…” I drop off, not knowing the right word to use.

“I know.” He replies simply. “Go wake Mason. He will want to see this.” I shake Mason just enough to get him awake so he can walk on his own. Rubbing his eyes, the bubble vanishes as my attackers are all dead. The buck stands at a distance and when its gold eyes lay on me it bows its head so low that its nose nearly touches the ground. Mason peers out from behind my leg, unsure whether the creature is deadly or friendly.

“Go touch it. Place your hand between the antlers.” Xanthos whispers and no I feel uneasy. What if it bites me? Or worse, what if it disappears from fear? I choose careful steps and tenderly rest my hand between the grand antlers that have to be weighing down the deer’s head. It slowly rises to stand at attention like a military soldier. Relief flows over me and I can feel the deer’s emotions and thoughts. I know everything about him.

“Orion.” I whisper and the deer lightly licks my palm once, leaving behind no disgusting slobber.

“I named him after one of Artemis’s greatest loves. He was a giant hunter, an unbelievable one at that.”

Up close, Orion is larger than I thought. The distance between the tip of one of the antlers to the tip of the other is probably equivalent to my own height. He’s three times larger than any normal buck, probably three times kinder, too.

“Children of Artemis have an ability to talk to most animals. With the Daughters of Artemis, they can control, with no issues, birds and felines—lions, cougars, jaguars. Me? I can control deer and wolves. It is pretty amazing if I do admit.”

I smile at him over my shoulder, continuing to stroke Orion’s neck. I wave my hand at Mason, beckoning him to come closer. He shakes his head and sidesteps over to Xanthos, who kneels down, placing his bow on the cold floor. He whispers something into my brother’s ear and, with a regretful, yet defeated, glance at the older boy, nods and walks toward me. I gather him in my arms so he can touch the deer’s nose. I have seen my brother smile many a time, though none like this; this is a true smile. Orion licks Mason’s face a few times, causing my brother to laugh uncontrollably.

Without warning, Orion perks up, going still instantly. So still, a marble statue would be envious.

“Xanthos…” I say cautiously, tightening my arms around Mason, listening for any threats. “What’s wrong with Orion?” I turn back and see Xanthos is frozen in place, bow in hand once again. Orion’s ear twitches once…twice…three times before Xanthos is suddenly beside me. I’m not sure if he notices that his hand is now resting lightly on the small of my back. He pushes me gently, moving me closer to Orion.

“Get on his back and hang on for your life.”

I obediently climb on Orion, Mason sitting in front of me. I wrap his arms around the deer’s neck and tell him to hold on tight, to not let go until I tell him to. I grab Orion’s antlers and send Xanthos a worried look.

“I will never let anything hurt you, Emma. I swear it.” He speaks so softly that I’m not entirely positive he spoke at all. His silver eyes gleam with promise.

 _I trust you._ I think at him even though he can’t possibly hear me. _No matter what._

Xanthos snaps his fingers a few quick times and Orion sprints off in tow of him, through the magical doorway that appears just before he hits a wall. Mason almost slides off and I risk letting go with one hand to keep him steady. At the speeds we’re traveling, I wonder how far away we are from the entrance. Xanthos makes a sharp left and, Orion being the obedient animal companion, follows suit, this time both Mason and I almost fly off.

It’s immediately after the sharp turn that we come to a sharp halt. My eyes grow wide as I look upon the beast.


	7. The Chimera and The Message

_~Emma~_

 

All four of us take in the towering beast. I slide off of Orion’s back, making sure Mason doesn’t follow me, and I stand beside Xanthos. “Is that a…Chimera?”

It’s a stupid question considering the beast before us is obviously a Chimera. The Chimera are a race of beast that contain parts of any three animals. The most common one—the one that stands growling over us—is a lion with the head of a goat erupting from its back and the tail of a snake ending in the snakes head. The thing about a Chimera is that the thing breathes fire and I’ve heard from a recent demigod encounter (not Xanthos) that the snake produces venom.

“Xanthos, please tell me you’ve fought a Chimera before.” I say and he shakes his head. Instinctively, I reach for my pendent which isn’t around my neck. My heart sinks, remembering that it’s back in the basement. “I’m weaponless.” I tell him. His response, once again, is a shake of the head. He takes my hand and, with my palm facing up, places my pendent in my hand. Instantly, it grows into a katana at my touch. I really do not know what I would do without this thing.

The Chimera studies us both, probably deciding how it’s going to eat us or how it would like to prepare us before it eats us.

Two demigods, a magical deer, and a small human boy just walked into a trap. (Sounds like the opener to a cringe-worthy joke.)

“Emmie, what is that?” Mason asks with terror evident in his voice.

What am I supposed to tell him? That a twenty foot tall monster can fit into a magical door that leads to gods know where? And that said door is dwelling in our basement, the basement we’ve grown up living above? It may sound crazy to me, but to a mortal it would sound drop dead insane and they’d have me taken away to the looney bin faster than Hermes can go from Olympus to the Underworld. How exactly would it sound to a five year old who believes the boogeyman resides in his closet? Mason might actually believe me, especially after being hunted by metal birds, seen me create a water force field, and touched a glowing buck that runs at supersonic speeds. Scratch all doubt of Mason being skeptical.

“That is a creature called a Chimera.” I tell him, choosing the way of truth. “It breathes fire and the snake if poisonous.”

“Do not fear beating around the bush.” Xanthos mutters. I glare over at him but he doesn’t see it.

The lion head roars and stomps its front feet. We all stumble and I reach over for the deer’s antlers for stability, though it is caught up in keeping itself from not falling over and keeping Mason on its back. The goat head turns upside down and blows a line of fire straight at us. I may have an enchanted sword that can detect “otherworldly” activity and beings and can also change its shape and size, but it sure as hell cannot deflect fire in that Hollywood way. I drop my weapon and summon every drop of water in my body and in the ground like I did to create the water force field. I raise my hands in front of the four of us, making a wall of clear bluish liquid.

Mason covers his eyes with his arm to also serve as a shield against the oncoming flames as if it were to break through. It won’t…I hope.

“I am going to try to wound the creature enough to bring it down, then I will send Orion after it to finish the job. Keep this wall up no matter what, for as long as you can. And do not tire yourself out, Emma.” He looks into my eyes with such trust that part of me feels obligated to agree…and I do. He darts through the protective wall, now out in the open, able to be harmed.

“Xanthos!”

Mason cries out below me and the sound of bare feet padding against stone floor is close behind. I’m momentarily distracted trying to stop Mason when a great ball of fire spins toward us. My strength is draining and when it hits, the fireball bursts through the wall of water. With impulse holding my hand the whole time, I grab Mason just before it touches me and I throw myself on the ground with him between the floor and I.

Unbelievable heat scorches my back. Smoke finds its way into my lungs and I start coughing uncontrollably between the screams of pain to get a breath of fresh air. All around us, orange flames lick up the stone walls. I hear Xanthos behind me shout my name. I turn to look at him, seeing that there are small flames dancing on the back of my shirt. A loud lion’s roar echoes, the type of roar that confirms a hideous infliction of pain. The roar dies down and a pair of cold hands grips my arms. I am met with a pair of worried silver eyes in front of my face.

“Emma, you have to take off your shirt.”

I hack up half a lung’s worth of oxygen before I respond. “ _Excuse me_?”

Impatience leaks into his fearful gaze. “Before you get a third degree burn! Hurry!” He takes off his leather jacket, holds it out, and closes his eyes. At least he’s considerate. I quickly rip off my burning shirt and slide my arms into my jacket, tightly wrapping it around myself.

“Help,” A small voice says. I glance around, alarmed to find Mason surrounded by fire. Before I can run to his aid, Xanthos grips my shoulder, shakes his head at me and darts into the flames to rescue my brother. Orion nudges me with his nozzle and I climb onto his back, taking Mason into my arms as if her were once again a new born baby. All three of us are covers in soot and choking on smoke. Xanthos sprints out the door, his center of balance a little off at first, and Orion is in tow. In no time we are back in the familiar basement which is also on fire. Outside the sound of sirens is prominent as it slides through the walls. Xanthos helps me off the deer and Orion vanishes into thin air. A group of men and women pour into the basement, splitting off—some going to defeat the raging flames while other comes to our aid. Three of them check on me and I push their hands away, pointing and telling them that Mason needs their help more than I do.

I have been hunting monsters for almost half of my life; I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone to bind my wounds, I have trained myself how, and especially not some mortal who thinks they know everything about medicines when they don’t know the half of it.

The firefighters reluctantly agree and carry Mason up the stairs. I follow close behind, momentarily forgetting Xanthos. When I search for his presence behind me, he isn’t there. Maybe he has already gone upstairs.

The fresh outdoor air is overwhelming and I have to grab hold of a post on the porch for stability. I can feel the earth spinning beneath me as I gaze upon the faces and concerned expressions of the neighbors. A medic runs up and gently places a hand on my elbow, guiding me over to an ambulance. I lean against his chest and glance up. For the slightest of three seconds, I see what has got to be one of the most hauntingly beautiful men I have ever laid eyes on. I don’t recognize him, but his name rolls off my tongue in a whisper as if I have known this man my whole life.

“ _Helios_.”

He smiles at me as he leads me to an ambulance. “I’ve got this one.” He tells someone, though I’m too entranced in his beauty to know who he’s talking to. Am I being charmed? This isn’t right. Every alarm is numbly screaming at me to knock this guy out and run away, though it is as if there are heavy chains wrapped tightly around our bodies, binding me to him so I cannot run. Part of me doesn’t want to run; I want to know the mystery of this beautiful being. The other part is too afraid to find out; wanting to let well enough alone.

_It is better not to know, than to know._

He lays me down onto a gurney and reaches for something. By the time I realize it’s a needle it’s too late and the short prick of pain shoots from my neck.

I feel weak, like my libs are jelly, or are no longer under my influence. I feel tired and I am falling into darkness. Seconds, minutes, hours—I don’t know how long—pass me by and I awake to the sound of dripping water echoing in the distance.

I am so cold yet so warm, it’s a confusing phenomenon and my stomach doesn’t agree with the rapid temperature fluctuation. Cold sweat begins to bead on my back, neck, and my forehead. A fire starts in a hearth somewhere close by. Two chairs are silhouetted against the yellow-orange light, both are occupied.

“That did not take long at all.” Comments a deep, musical voice.

“No,” A strong female voice responds. “The last one took a while to awaken.”

I feel a psychic pull toward the chairs. Standing, I walk over and take in my captors, stopping beside the hearth. Separating the two seats is a table which supports a wine bottle and two magnificently rare looking wine glasses—both filled halfway.

The being farthest from me is male, probably in his early twenties. The being closest to me is the owner of the female voice, older than him but not by much, and she beams with radiant and regal beauty. He picks up one of the wine glasses and tips the edge over his bottom lip, quietly sipping the red liquid. As I study more closely—him with sharpened featured, golden skin, hair and eyes; her with long curly black hair that reaches her hips which is tied up and cascading over one shoulder, fair skin tone and a frail boy structure—I realize that I am not standing before two mortals, not even two gods. Instead they are two Titans: Helios and Metis.

“Where am I?” I demand, my gaze cutting from one to the other and back. “Where is Mason? Send me back!”

Helios looks at me, studying me as he places the glass on the table, crossing a leg over the other and folding his hands on his knee. Metis sits on the edge of her chair with her back straight and her shoulders square. She is the mother of Athena, where the goddess got her looks from it seems. She is the Titan of advice, craftiness, good counsel, and wisdom. Never before did I think I would ever be in her presence.

“I knew you were a brave and…outspoken one. I did not know that you cared about a mere mortal. You have grown such a deadly attachment to something so fragile and prone to death—”

“Oh, like I’m not a calling card to monsters.” I interrupt.

“—It is a weakness and may just kill you in the process.” Helios speaks up first. He talks as if he contains so many centuries of knowledge. (Which he does.)

Metis, who sits as still as a statue has her eyes slightly squinted as she looks me over carefully. “You resemble him. You resemble him a lot.” Where Helios speaks quietly and with pride, Metis speaks slowly, making sure her every word is heard by the receiver.

“Him? Him who?” I ask.

“You have not met him, but you will. Soon. Chronos is on your side, just this once.” She replies.

“ _Him_ who? Who are you talking about?” I demand once more through gritted teeth.

Helios grins and answers first. “Your father, Poseidon. But that is not why we—rather, Metis—is here. She brings news for you.”

My gaze flies to her at lightning speed. Oh, good, my copy of _The Olympus Times_ is here. “I don’t care about the gods’ gossip. I have more important things to worry about.”

Metis rises from her chair, walking over to me, her thin silk dress swishing around her legs with each step. “The news I bear involves you, Emma Knight. It also has to do with Hades.”

I grow still at the mention of the ruler of the Underworld; who also happens to be my uncle…unfortunately. “What did Uncle Sam do?”

“Hades is threatening war on Poseidon, and he has requested your head on a silver platter. Do not fear, for it is not just you. There is another Child of Poseidon he is threatening. You shall meet him soon enough.”

“Oh yes, that makes me feel _so_ much better.” I will admit that I’m unfazed to hear about Hades threatening war on Poseidon. It’s like a tornado occurring in Tornado Alley during tornado season, not that shocking. “What is it this time? Did Poseidon splash Hades or something?”

Metis isn’t amused by my question. “Two things have been stolen from Hades, two things that, in the wrong hands, maybe even any hands, could destroy the world. Hades had these two objects locked away and guarded beyond belief. They cannot be found anywhere. He has laid blame on you and this other Child of Poseidon for stealing these object.”

I hold my hands up when she takes a pause so I can intervene. “But why is Hades throwing blame on us? Why not a Child of Zeus?”

“Poseidon and Hades have been quarreling more often recently.” Metis answers simply, as if that’s a proper excuse for threatening world destruction.

I release a defeated breath. Is she going to tell me what the objects are and what I have to do, or do I have to ask her about them first?

Helios stands and moves beside the Titaness. Surprisingly, I am an inch or so taller than him. “You, the other Child of Poseidon, and the Son of Artemis need to find these objects and take them back to Hades. Convince him that it was not you who took them. Hades is not evil but he will torture you before he kills you. He will do this to exact revenge on Poseidon for having you steal the items. And if Poseidon allows Hades to get to him, it will start a war between the gods.”

When is there _not_ almost a war between the gods? “I have one question: what are the object?”

“I am terribly sorry, Emma, but I cannot tell you any more about this. You and the other two demigod are to figure that out. But,” Metis says, pausing and holding up her index finger. “I do have a gift for you that may help with some obstacles on your journey.” She goes behind her chair to retrieve something.

And that something isn’t just any something: it’s my father’s trident. It stands at four and a half feet tall; a mahogany pole that is topped with three prongs, all sharpened and made of Adamantine. I stare in awe at the glowing Mark of Poseidon that is etched where the bottom of the middle prong meets the pole. As she closes the distance between us, I notice that in the mahogany wood are etchings of waves. Metis holds out the trident to me.

“Your father requested I give this to you. He told me that at your will it will shrink down to the size of your palm and seep into your skin like water, disguising itself like a mere tattoo. Good luck, Emma Knight. You can do this.”

Before I can ask why Poseidon would care enough about me to give me a gift, a bright light fills the room and I am thrown quite hard back into the real world. Mason’s round face is looking down at mine. His big brown eyes are concerned as he stares at my eyes, studying me to know if I am alive. There I a drying scarlet liquid on his forehead and I shoot up, cupping his semi-chubby face in my hands and pulling him close so I can examine him.

“Mason, I am so sorry. This is my fault. I am so, so, so sorry, Mason.”

“It’s okay, Emmie,” Mason wraps the oversize maroon shock blanket around his small shoulders and hangs his feet over the edge of the ambulance. I follow his lead, though instead of staring into empty space like he is, I look frantically around for Xanthos. The blue, white, and red flashing lights are blinding in my eyes as they break through the darkness of ending twilight, causing some people to look like shadows—the monsters in six year old’s closets. I begin feel a growing concern for Xanthos’s well-being and for Mason, who sits silently, too silent and too calm for an almost six year old who was close to burning to death. Maybe it’s his way of being shocked—showing the world how calm and quiet he can be. _Oh gods, where is Xanthos?_ He couldn’t have gone far. No, he _wouldn’t_ have gone far. After getting to know Xanthos by defeating monsters at each other’s side and a week’s worth of _Are you all right? Are you safe?_ Texts and calls, I know for a fact that the whole disappearance act is not in Xanthos’s character description.

So where is he?

“Emma!” I hear someone’s voice call out with desperation and apprehension. I stare off in the direction the sound came from like a deer caught in headlights. Xanthos elbows his way through the crowd, an EMT on his trail yelling at him to stop. He doesn’t stop until he reaches me.

“Is Mason all right?” He asks without a loss of breath. Finally, he wonders about someone else’s wellbeing and not mine. I am baffled though at his ability to run and run and run and not tire out. Then I remember he left me with his jacket and without a shirt. I hurry to cover myself and realize that I have a new shirt on. I feel bad for whoever had that job…

Glancing down, Mason is still in his frozen position, staring at nowhere. “He hasn’t moved for a few minutes and it’s starting to scare me.”

“The veil was removed at a young age; he will be fine—after growing up with years of therapy.”

“Xanthos please don’t joke. I never wanted him to see this part of my life.” I confess to him.

He stares at me, dumbfounded. “You are a demigod, a Daughter of Poseidon nonetheless, he would have figured it out sooner or later.”

My gaze goes to my feet, swinging bare foot above the ground. The right leg of my jeans has a hole which reveals a patch of slightly charred skin on my shin. I don’t remember any pain, but now the wound is numb.

“No, he wouldn’t have.” When he answers with silence, I continue, “I was planning on leaving here, living life on my own in a few years. My absence from his life growing up would rid any memory of me. He wouldn’t have to live in fear, always watching his back.”

“Emma, please do not take this the wrong way: He would, _will_ , have to grow up that way. That is because he is the half-brother of a Daughter of Poseidon. Monsters will go after him like they do you. He needs you to protect him.” Xanthos gently lifts my chin so I am looking at him directly in those mesmerizing silver eyes of his. “He needs your protection.”

I nod my head in understanding. Curse him for knowing what to say at the right time. Seriously, where has Xanthos been my entire life? I’ve needed this external voice to theoretically slap me across the face. The corners of my mouth tug upward into a small grin and I pull Mason closer to me, kissing the top of his head, his thick silky brown hair tickling my nose. Xanthos returns the smile just as his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and check the caller ID. Amusement, surprise, and a bit of annoyance flood through him. All of which is coming from an outside witness.

“Calling to return that favor, I presume?” He says into the mobile device after answering it on the third ring. The volume is loud enough for me to hear a muffled voice on the other end, but not enough for me to depict any words. The caller sounds as if they are telling Xanthos off. He doesn’t appear the least bit affected by it. He rolls his eyes and releases an exasperated breath.

“Your key word there is ‘almost’. I _almost_ got you emitted into a hospital, though if my memory deceives me, which it rarely does, you left me with third degree burns, about seventy stitches, quite the migraine and a lovely little chat with the cops that it is even a miracle I was able to talk my way out of prison; and from what you left me to deal with, I would have been the one that caused the grand reopening of Alcatraz. I am also lucky that, had they shown up a minute sooner, they would have seen my Mark glowing and they would have handed me over to the American government to be poked and stabbed and dissected. You owe me big time, Orpheus.”

I think it’s safe to say that Xanthos’s backstory isn’t the size of a novella, but the entire World Encyclopedia. It would be a lie if I said that I am not in the least bit intrigued. I want to know that story.

“What do you want?” Xanthos demands. A short muffle is the response I hear, and a short muffle goes a long way because just as it stops, Xanthos pales. “No.”

“What is it?” I ask but Xanthos merely holds up a finger to silence me. He listens intently, looking over at me periodically, his brows creased in anger and then coming to the beginning of defeat as he accepts whatever the person on the other line is telling him. After letting out an irritated huff, he says, “Fine. We'll get there as soon as the ambulances are gone.”

Xanthos is now close enough for me to hear a real mundane sentence from the other person, which is: “But that’ll take hours!”

“Half an hour.” Xanthos says sternly, hanging up.


	8. Demigod Versus Monsters

_~Emma~_

 

 

Mortal police officers tend to really aggravate me. Look, I get you need information on what happened, but could you please wait until the EMTs are done patching me up? I mean, have a little courtesy. By the time the cops finally left Xanthos and I alone, and after a failure at trying to get Mason to speak, a half hour had already passed. Mom and Heidi called me, having been contacted about the fire in their basement. Mom was the most concerned, mainly for Mason though. (Let’s hear it for favoritism!) Heidi on the other hand is the disciplinary one so when she took center stage on the phone, I got an earful. She screams at me for being irresponsible, for having a—and I quote—“strange boy” over when they aren’t home. Of course I make the argument that Xanthos (though I use the codename he gave to Mom and Heidi) actually saved my life, technically, three times and Mason’s life twice now.

 She scolds me, telling me that when they get back they’ll ground me for all of my immortal life. As if they know how long I’ll be alive. I really hope I don’t live longer than I’m supposed to. I’d hate to “achieve” immortality. A life of immortality is lonely and depressing, watching every attachment you make die while you live on. Right now, loneliness for me is hell.

Xanthos stands in front of me with a sympathetic expression and he says, “Put it on speaker phone.” I don’t know why he would request such a thing, yet I do it anyway. Xanthos clears his throat, bends forward to get closer to the phone and annunciates his words. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Heidi, this is Theo. I would like to make a few comments.”

I wince, preparing for the backlash of screaming she is about to let out at him. To my total surprise, she tells him to continue on.

“It is not Emma’s fault for my presence at your home. I stopped by because I was worried about her. It was a simple check up on her safety. That was when I felt we were being watched and I told her to get Mason and bring him to the basement where I would be waiting. I was injured in a fight just before I stopped by so Emma stepped up to the plate, protecting both Mason and myself. Do not blame her, do not put her down. She did nothing wrong, for if she was not the quick thinker she is, both Mason and I would be dead, she might even be dead as well. You should praise her. Emma is a hero.”

Xanthos looks up at me through his dark eyelashes when he lies about be being a hero. I’m not a hero, I am anything but. He doesn’t believe that though, and I think I have just made it my new personal goal to convince him that I am no such thing. The way he lies for me, to protect me, creates a story to help him persuade Heidi that I am not in the wrong. It sends a strange emotion though my body, an emotion that I have no name for. No one has ever stuck up for me and he does it without a second thought.

I don’t know if it is my imagination but I believe I see his pupils dilate and he stares up at me with the kindest and most pleading eyes. He knows I don’t believe myself to be a hero. He wants me to be one though.

There’s a pause on the phone and it’s as if you can hear Heidi’s contemplation on the other end.

“Fine.” She says shortly. “This is a warning.” I smile with relief and mouth the words _thank you_ to Xanthos who nods his head. “I’ve got to go and I will be checking in every hour on the hour. Got it?”

“Yes, Heidi. Bye Mom!” I add frantically. I hear the click and my phone’s screen tells me that the call was ended.

There’s this feeling in my chest that swells and burns and aches. The only equivalence is when you tell your parents about something you’re overly passionate about and they shrug you off. It’s knowing that your parents are disappointed in you. I know the feeling of parent to child disappointment all too well. It arrives every time my mom and I discuss the topic of my…other genetic half. Right now, I feel that and it’s at the point where it hurts so much that I am trying to find ways to blame myself for it. I have to learn to shut it out.

The sting of threatening tears forms in the back and corners of my eyes. I turn away, Xanthos _cannot_ see my cry; he will never see me cry. At this moment, though, I’m not so sure about that. A hand grips my arm gingerly, lightly spinning me around and wrapping its arms around me, holding me tight. All I can think is _don’t cry. Do not cry. Don’t you dare cry, Emma._ The rhythmic and steady beating of Xanthos’s heart repeats in my ear like the delicate sound of light rain in May. I focus on that and the tears eventually leave for another day.

One of his hands rests on the back of my head, burying his long, thin fingers in my wavy, dark brown hair that, at the moment, is most likely knotted.

“It’s okay,” He repeats over and over in a whisper that is as soft as slowly falling snow. He comes upon a small knot in my hair and embarrassment burns my cheeks. “Emma,” He holds me at a fourth of his arm’s length and gently grabs my chin and forces me to look him in the eye. “It is not your fault that you are a demigod. You cannot control genetics and you cannot change genetics. You are you and you are magnificent. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

“Thank you, Xanthos.” I whisper back to him.

We wait together in silence, along with Mason, for the cops and ambulances to leave before Xanthos whistles to summon Orion. It is not just Orion that arrives at his command. A wolf appears with Orion and the wolf has the same appearance the deer does: larger than normal and made completely of solid light. Xanthos helps Mason and me onto Orion then straddles the wolf.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

My only response from him is a wink and a heart attack from being taken completely off guard by the sudden speed of Orion as he and the wolf book it down the street.

I hold on to Mason with as tight a grip as I can muster, which happens to be the moment that Orion comes to an absolute sudden halt. I’m lucky I didn’t fly off and end up through the glass window of the building we are now in front of. With a slam of biker boots against concrete, Xanthos reaches for me. I shake my head and hand him Mason. Sliding off when they step back, I drag my hand along the neck of the deer until I’m facing him, looking in those vivid golden eyes.

“I’m not sure if you can understand me, Orion, and if you were a horse this would be much easier. Thank you.”

Orion bows his head, just like he did in the basement.

We have traveled to the middle of absolutely nowhere, the only building as far as I can see is a small diner titled _Half-and-Half_. Xanthos raises his eyebrows a few times and what connects is the supposed funny pun about the name.

“Ha ha ha.” I say dryly and walk ahead of him when Mason darts off in front.

The sweet aroma from inside the diner hits me when I enter—everything from chicken to bacon and pancakes.

“What is this place?” I ask Xanthos, glancing around the inside at the…beings residing at various tables. Most of them are demigods—I only know because it comes to me like a feeling, plus some of their Marks are showing—and some are satyrs, centaurs, ipotane (which really takes some time to decipher if indeed it is an ipotane), and panes. Mason doesn’t seem fazed by it whereas I am beyond amazed.

Xanthos searches the people gathered at the counter in the back of the diner and he lights up when he spots who he is looking for. “Avery!” He calls. In response to hearing her name, a petite, dark skinned girl perks up from wiping the counter. He waves and she grins, rushing around to hug him.

“Boy, it has been so long since I last saw you here. How’ve you been?” He gives her a droll stare and she laughs in understanding. “Right, sorry.”

His smile returns as he introduces Mason and I. “Ave, this is Emma Knight and her half-brother Mason. Emma, Mason, this is Avery. One of my vast number of friends.” She laughs at his impossible comment and asks if he’ll take the usual. “Yeah, oh and _he_ is on his way.”

Avery’s expression turns sly and somewhat dark. “How long?”

“Five minutes. You got any stored up in the basement?”

“Honey, we never run out. I’ll have Di set it up for him.”

“Thanks, Avery.” He sits down in a booth. Mason crawls into the opposing seat and I slide in beside him. A large window makes up the wall at the front of the restaurant. I don’t say anything to Xanthos; the confused expression on my face says it all.

“There is not much about Kyl I actually like, but what you are about to witness in a few minutes is the one thing I do enjoy about him. It is, excuse my language, pretty badass.” The way he says badass with his accent is swoon-worthy. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks and embarrassment strikes me. I face the window to the left, watching demigods and creatures alike enter and exit from and into nowhere—along with the front door. “Here he comes.”

I watch at a large puddle of water forms almost half a mile away and a boy about my age walks up through it like he is walking up stairs. When he’s fully emerged, I notice that he’s completely dry, as if he didn’t just rise from water. Thunder rubles loudly and Mason covers his ears though he keeps watching the boy. Off in the distance, a pair of large horses gallop toward the boy with impossible and incredible swiftness. A sly and somewhat evil smirk grows from one corner of the boy’s mouth and he stops, turns only his head to the left, looking over his shoulder at the approaching horses. He lowers to one knee, reached his hand _into_ a smaller puddle and produce a sword no longer than his entire arm. The blade and hilt are made of sterling silver, polished to a perfect gleam, encrusted with sapphires and amethysts.

The boy stands, _still_ not facing his body to the oncoming horses. The animals are seconds away and the seconds stretch into hours as they run passed him on both sides of him. They make a U-turn and then they come to a halt several yards in front of him. Everyone in the diner is still and silent, watching the standoff between demigod and equines. Well, maybe they’re not completely silent. Whispers float about, who thinks who will win—some say they’ve seen this boy fight before and he is beyond the greatness of a warrior. I guess we’ll find out if he lives up to that status.

_Come and get it._

I hear a voice in the back of my head. It’s unfamiliar and I don’t exactly know where it came from.

The first horse, the one farthest from the diner, rockets forward, a hungry glare in its black eyes. It hits me right then what these animals are: the Mares of Diomedes, just two of his four horses. Rain begins to fall from the sky as dark clouds roll and thunder rumbles overhead. The boy doesn’t pay the weather any attention as he slides out of the way of the oncoming equestrian. When the horse realizes what he’s done, it makes a sharp turn around. This time the demigod uses the sword to decapitate the mare, its body running a few steps toward its brother before falling to the ground, losing the battle against death. I swear, I have never seen so much blood in my entire life. The demigod is splattered with it.

The second mare is none too happy with the death of his brother and charges head on at the boy. He lowers his sword and at the last second, when I think he is about to get trampled to the ground, he sticks out his hand, stopping the horse with full force, holding it by the nose, keeping his hand just above the mouth so the man-eating farm animal won’t make him its midnight snack. The evilly sly grin adds cockiness and takes over his whole mouth. Watching closely, I notice a translucent blue-white liquid emerging from the boy’s hand. The horse shakes his head violently, attempting to free itself but coming to no avail. It falls to the ground, motionless.

 _Son of Poseidon,_ I think to myself and just after that moment, he flinches but chooses to ignore whatever made him flinch. He takes the sword and pierces the skin of the animal right where its heart would be, just in case it wasn’t quite dead. He retrieves his sword and I am startled by the serpentine creature that slithers on the outside of the window. I don’t scream. I’ve learned not to at the monstrous surprises the worlds have to offer. Plus, it’s on the outside of the glass, not the inside.

The snake slides off the window onto the ground and after the boy. He cocks his head to the side and looks at the window our table is positioned against. I follow his droll gaze right to Xanthos, who sends him a thumbs up. The boy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He finds the serpent a petty excuse for a monster to send his way, up until the thing grows twice its original size.

The demigod gets down on his hands and knees, looks at the ground between his hands then closes his eyes. The serpent-monster thing doesn’t stop for a second. The fingers of the boy curl up and turn paper white as a pained expressions plasters itself on his face. The kind of pained expression one might have while being physically tortured. The ground rumbles and cracks between his hands, moving in the direction of the snake, opening more and more the closer it gets to the creature. The boy quickly, and with all the pressure in the world, moves his hands as wide-spread as possible and the earth splits in two beneath the serpent, who falls into the earth.

He closes the distance between his hands and the ground closes, stitching itself together. He grabs his sword and makes his way into the diner. Everyone in the building applauds his success—all except Xanthos and I. Pride is written all over his posture and face as he walks over to the booth we are at, plopping down next to Xanthos and across from me. I can finally get a better look at the guy.

The demigod, Son of Poseidon, has sun bronzed skin, dark brown hair that looks just as silky as Mason’s feels, eyes of two separate colors—on, the left, is a lovely and subtle sea foam green, where the other, the right, is an intense Caribbean blue. The contrast of his skin sets off his eyes, giving his stare more intensity. He has broad shoulders and muscled arms. A scar calls his temple—above the blue eyes—home, probably something he got from battling a monster at some point in his life.

“Are you really going to force me to do that every time we meet here?” he asks Xanthos, dipping a large hand into one of the baskets on the table, fishing out and shoving a couple onion rings into his mouth.

“Yes, I am.” Xanthos answers him simply. “I need something to help remind me of the very few things I actually enjoy about…” Xanthos raises and lowers his hand.

“You just gestured to all of me.” The boy glares at him. “And you,” he looks at me now, “you don’t seems at all impressed by what I just did.


	9. The Discussion

_~Emma~_

 

People describe others as “carrying” certain traits. In the case of the Son of Poseidon sitting before me, pride carries him; what’s even worse is that he embraces it, allowing it to control him.

“All I’m saying is that I was pretty freaking amazing out there and you have an expression on your face like you just saw me commit murder and now I’m holding you prisoner.”

“I’m sorry,” I shake my head, really bringing myself to the present, out of processing what I witnessed outside. “You did—”

“No,” Xanthos interrupts me. “Don’t compliment him. He compliments himself enough for everyone. He doesn’t need your external voice.” Xanthos cuts in, offering Mason an apple slice while his silver eyes glimmer at me through his long dark lashes.

Mason accepts it, turning the slice in his small fingers. “How’d you do that? How did you pull that sword out of the puddle?”

“I’m half god, you stupid mortal. I can do anything.” He says with disgust, as if he just found maggots in his McDonald’s meal. As he leans forward to reach for another onion ring, I take my fork and slam it, prongs first, into the table between his thumb and first finger. His hand stops abruptly and he stares dumbfounded at me, which is when I reach with my free hand to grip a fist full of his shirt collar and yank him close to my face.

Through gritted teeth, our faces so close our noses almost brush, I say to him, “Don’t you _ever_ call my little brother a stupid mortal. _Ever_. Say something remotely similar to him or about him again and I will hunt you down and kill you slowly. Got it?”

His gaze is steady, holding mine in place. The warmth of his breath reminds me of a summer breeze on the beach. Speaking of the beach, he emits the aroma of the ocean and sand, a sweet and relaxing smell that might very well be the reason for why I didn’t sock him in the face the moment the comment left his lips. His mouth curls into a wicked grin. An eyebrow raised, he asks, “Is that a promise or a threat?”

“That is a promise.” I whisper in a low tone, finally realizing that the whole diner got silent and is watching us. I forcefully shove him back, hard enough that my point gets across but also so he won’t be hurt. As I calmly lower back down on the bench seat—and as the lively atmosphere of the diner reanimates—he gives me a look of approval, like he had been provoking my fierce protection over Mason as some kind of test. Though how he could know about my feelings as a demigod sister to a mortal brother are beyond me. I mean, he doesn’t even know my name. This boy of the sea does look oddly familiar to my farthest memory trigger and I have no idea why I should recognize him.

I’m ninety percent sure that I would remember the face of a person who could be so proud and so rude. I don’t forget those people. Maybe the memory of what exactly it was they did or said is fuzzy, but I don’t remember their faces. It also might just be me but how can one erase the image of someone with _heterochromia_?

“Emma,” Xanthos says, pulling me out of my thoughts. When I surface back to the suck that is reality, I become aware that I have been glaring profusely at the boy. I immediately move my gaze to Xanthos. “This is an…ally of mine: Kyl Orpheus.”

At that moment, I am not quite sure if I physically paled or if I only felt it and the temperature in the room dropped about sixty degrees. Could that be—

No. Impossible. I cannot possibly remember this boy—Kyl—from my haunting nightmare a week ago. I try to force up the image of the boy from the possible premonition and find that it was too dark and he was too bloodied and bruised to compare his appearance to Kyl’s. He leans back with relaxed eyelids, saying, “Emma: a German name meaning universal. A very strong name, if you ask me. One that belongs to a warrior.”

“What are you implying?” I ask him, raising a brow.

He spreads his arms, almost hitting Xanthos in the chest in the process. “Just that I expect you to fulfill that meaning while we’re on this little road trip.”

I frown in confusion at Xanthos who avoids eye contact with Kyl and me. “Did you tell her?” Kyl accuses him and Xanthos shakes his head. Kyl lets out an irritated breath, standing. “Come on. We can’t talk here. Too many ears.” He passes a condemning glare over the crowded tables and the wait staff. I peek around the room just noticing the eyes on us and the intently listening ears. I grab Mason’s hand and follow the boys out of the diner, calling a thank you and a nice meeting you to Avery. She waves in reply.

The outdoor air is extremely humid and thick with the smell of thunderstorms. I inhale deeply to savor the smell of the nearby storm. Bitter drops of water begin to fall from their home in the clouds. The sound of thunder breaking the wind is their battle cry as they attack from above, raising chills on my exposed skin. Kyl and Xanthos don’t acknowledge the rain, but Mason huddles close to me for warmth, though I can practically touch the electricity in the air.

Kyl kneels to the ground, placing his palm on the asphalt and closing his eyes. Miniature streams of water race to his fingers and soon enough there is a collecting puddle forming. He sits down with his legs in thee puddle and he swings them back and forth like a child, looking up at us with a tight lipped innocent looking smile. Mason gasps in amazement and I can’t blame him. (Remember when I said Kyl’s feet were _in_ the puddle? Well, don’t take that lightly because the only part of his legs that is visible end at his knees. The rest is below the surface of the deceivingly deep puddle.

“Kid, what you’re looking at is a portal. You don’t know how long it took me to learn how to do this and sometimes it doesn’t work. Let’s go. Your house, Xanthos?”

“Whoa, wait.” I say, holding up my hand as if I could use some Jedi mind trick to hold Kyl there, frozen in time. “You’re telling me that you want us to go through some portal made of water that _might_ get us to our destination?”

Kyl rolls his eyes at Xanthos, mentally asking him: _Seriously?_ I’ve got to say that it wasn’t as telepathic a communication between Xanthos and Kyl as I thought, since I heard Kyl say it in my head. This is really beginning to freak me out.

“What will happen if it doesn’t work the way it should?” I dare to ask this stranger.

“A few things could happen, actually. We could end up back here. Um, we could end up somewhere completely off course, or even in the ocean. It could keep us trapped within.” He stands—his legs calves aren’t even wet—and closes the space between us. He isn’t that much taller than me, probably a forehead’s difference. “The portal could ultimately keep you, never letting you go. Making you a slave to your own nightmares, forcing you to wander aimlessly around in search of some familiarity that maybe you find but usually it is just the portal screwing with your mind.” His heterochromia eyes—subtle sea foam green and intense Caribbean blue—examine my face with a sadistic humor glinting in them. He whispers, “Are you willing to take that chance… _Princess_?”

I swallow with anger. It stings to hear demigods like Xanthos say that to me as an insult or some stupid common nickname, but hearing the word drip from Kyl’s mouth wrapped in his voice like poison disguised as honey is equivalent to abrupt and painful death. (Not that I know what death is like. Near-death is nothing close.)

“Kyl, stop.” I hear Xanthos’s voice demand, cutting through the throbbing of my heart beat in my ears.

“Of course I’m willing to take that chance.” I reply through gritted teeth. Kyl cranes his head back slightly to look down at me through his eyelashes, raising one brow like he’s surprised I said what I did.

Xanthos groans as Kyl spins on his heels. “It is as if his stupidity is contagious just by looking at him.” He rubs his head in the same way one might do when trying to banish a headache. “Mason can’t go through that thing.”

“Why can’t he?” Kyl asks with confusion covering him from expression to tone.

“He’s mortal, for one. And, on a similar note, I can’t go through it either because neither Mason nor I are Children of Poseidon.”

I want to correct him, telling him that the chance of Mason being a demigod is still possible. A horrible reality in my opinion. The chance of him being a Son of Poseidon is slim, and it doesn’t help solve Xanthos’s issue. (You know, just the ever rare Son of Artemis standing next to me. No big deal.)

Kyl eyes me from head to toe. “No. But she is. You both hold on to her and you’ll be fine.” Xanthos just stares at him. “What? I don’t love you that much, Xanthos. I’m not holding your hand.” Kyl steps down into the puddle, the water level reaching the middle of his shin. “There’s one step. After that it’s like a…waterslide. All you have to do, Emma, is not let go of Xanthos and your little brother or they will die a slow and agonizing death. Oh wait, that would only be fulfilling Xanthos’s prophesized end. If you do let him go don’t let it get to your psyche too much. I certainly won’t blame you. Not many others would either.”

“I really don’t like him.” Xanthos whispers in my ear while gently taking my hand in his. The flesh on his hand is frigid, sending my nerves on end all the way up my arm. I can’t let go or he will die.

I can’t help wondering why they hate each other so much. At first, I believed it was just this “brotherly” type of love/hate friendship. That clearly isn’t the case. One of them did or caused something unforgivable to the other. I want to know what it is because I’m not going to be working with a pair of two year olds fighting over a crayon. I have to take that crayon and break it. I don’t care if they’re not particularly ecstatic to have to work with half a crayon, but I’d rather have them accept each other and not fight every two seconds.

Mason grips my empty hand in his—warm compared to Xanthos’s. I lightly squeeze his hand to reassure him that I won’t let go because I never let go.

Kyl pauses to add one last comment. “Wait like five-ish seconds. I don’t want the three of you trampling me.” With that, Kyl disappears into the puddle-portal. I give him a leeway of seven seconds before I dip my foot into the puddle. In response, the water widens to fit the three of us at once. I swallow, Mason hops in, and Xanthos nods. My feet tip over the one stair Kyl was standing on and we are sucked through.

Now I realize why the warning about letting go of Mason and Xanthos was so necessary; the speed we glide at is consuming, not to mention the liquid all around us. (Think in terms of a whirlpool and you get the picture, at least a close enough one.) The struggle to hold on to them is great. Fortunately, Mason has a grip forged from iron though, I can’t vouch for Xanthos.

At the last second, they both simultaneously slip away like sand through my fingers. My heart stops—almost literally—until I end up face down in the grass of my backyard. _Why are we here?_ I could swear Kyl mentioning something back in the mysterious diner’s parking lot about going to Xanthos’s house.

Everywhere is still, silent, and midnight blue with the stars peppering the sky around and beyond the crescent moon. The temperature change is quite significant as the frigid and brittle member of folklore, best known as Jack Frost, skims his fingers up and down my spine. I find Mason’s dark figure on the ground a few feet away from me shivering like a madman and I quickly crawl to him and pull him against me, knowing that I can warm him with my body heat.

“Is he okay?”

Kyl stands over us, his hands down at his sides, his face hidden by the darkness.

“Yes,” I answer shortly, not sure whether or not he truly cares. I don’t think he does because he moves on to verbally hustle Xanthos, who, by the way, is lying on the opposite side of the yard, to his feet. “Why are—”

He holds up a hand to stop me from continuing my question. “It’s passed midnight and the kid looks exhausted. Is it safe to talk here?”

 _Yeah, if Heidi hasn’t charmed the house yet,_ I think. A quizzical gleam washes over his angular face, soon fading away as he heads toward the back door. I watch as he tries the knobs and the door swings open with the force of his arm.

“You really should lock your doors, sweetheart!” He calls over his shoulder. “Real monsters aren’t animal-bloodsucking fairies that need permission to cross over someone’s threshold!”

I snigger at his pop culture reference though I let it pass quickly. I need to get Mason warm. I gather him in my arms, holding him close, and step through the back door that Kyl is so kindly holding open for us. Taking him upstairs and placing him in his bed, I head for the bathroom first to get a warm wash cloth to cover his forehead. When that’s done, I speed down the steps, shoulder passed Kyl who stands awkwardly in the kitchen, and head down to the basement to retrieve Mason’s blankets.

 _Don’t look_. I tell myself. _Don’t look at the damages. Examine after Mason is warm and asleep._ I try my hardest to keep my attention averted from the surroundings of the unfinished cement, brick, and concrete room.

I head back for my freezing little brother’s room. I’m about to leave after tucking the blanket edges under him when a small, shaking hand grips my wrist. I kneel down so I am eyelevel with him. His face is pale and his lips are beginning to lose a blue tint. Thank the gods.

“D-don’t lea-eave m-me.”

I restrain against the tears. “Mason, I’m just going to be downstairs. Nothing can get to you when I’m down there. Plus, you’ve seen Xanthos and Kyl fight in combat. They’ll be there with me. I will never let anything hurt you, okay?”

He nods and releases my wrist, pulling his hand back into the warm darkness beneath his blankets.

As I make my way down the stairs, I can hear the boy’s voices and I quiet my steps to listen in on them.

“You and I need to talk.” Kyl’s voice is deep like the ocean he comes from.

“Yes, I agree. We all do. I know that.”

“No. _I_ need to talk to _you_ and _you alone_. This doesn’t involve her.”

“Everything involves her, Kyl. It’s my fault. I am the one who got her into all of this.”

“Xanthos.” Kyl’s voice plunges into a whisper—though the firmness thickens—and I have to strain to hear. “She isn’t encompassed in everything. This is about your cousin.”

Silence so thick it’s suffocating follows. I swear my small breaths are the loudest thing ever created. “Emma,” Kyl calls out. “Who taught you to eavesdrop? Because they didn’t do a good job.”

I complete the journey down the remaining steps and enter the living room to see Kyl standing over Xanthos who is sitting on the edge of the couch’s arm, favoring his right shoulder. He rises when he sees me, guilt crossing his face as he realizes his improper behavior that is sitting on a stranger’s couch arm. The act is nothing important to me, but Mom would have a cow.

The three of us stand there for a few moments without saying anything. Kyl takes a gander at the room he is in. Xanthos is still holding his shoulder and now that I’m closer to him I can see a small trickle of drying blood coming from the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t know what I know and the gods know what Kyl has knowledge of. I don’t really know what to say considering I don’t know anything about Kyl and whether or not I can trust him with what Metis and Helios told me.

It’s dark in the room; everything is painted in blues and the pale white of the moon. Half of Xanthos’s face is dressed in the light of the moon yet both irises catch the light. I’m going to have to talk to him about what freaky powers his eyes possess. Suddenly, Kyl snatches my right hand and lifts it up for examination. Instantly, I pull back and glare at him. How dare he have the nerve to touch me. Especially after how he acted in front of Mason.

“I know they came to you.” He says, looking at me with full eyes. My heart skips a beat. Maybe they met with him, too. I noticed the trident mark on your palm—” He holds up my hand again, moving with caution and then he draws his fingers delicately over the black lines. “—I figured that you aren’t allowed to have tattoos so this must have been a gift from them.”

I nod at his words, admitting truth to what he says. Xanthos looks more than perplexed at this point.

“Take it out.” Kyl whispers.

“I don’t know how.” I tell him.

He cocks his head to the side and aims a droll stare at me. “I don’t believe those words for two seconds.” My hand hovers in its spot when he lowers his, waiting for my next move. Turning my hand so I can look at the dark lines on my palm, I focus on the trident, willing it to separate from my own being.

A slight burning occurs in my right hand’s palm and I wince at the surprise of pain. Kyl crosses his arms, impressed with what I'm doing. The trident glows waves of blue, like how water breaks up sun rays. The three of us watch as it turns three dimensional and hovers over my hand, growing and changing into a real trident, the one Metis gifted to me personally. Kyl leans forward to say, “I told you.”

“Wait, what is going on? Who gave that to you?” Xanthos asks, not even acknowledging Kyl with his questions.

“When I was being taken to the ambulance after the Chimera attack, I blacked out and Metis and Helios gave it to me.”

“You battled a Chimera?” Kyl asks with envy.

Xanthos ignores him. “Titans came to you? What did they say?”

Kyl sobers from his envy and we glance at each other. I’m not sure why I choose to look him at him, but I feel as if he carries the same message I do. Kyl speaks up first. “I don’t know what they told Emma, but they said to me that she and I are being hunted. Hades has a price stamped on our foreheads for the theft of two objects. Objects that could end humanity and divinity as we know it. Although, they are Titans, so that could be a slight exaggeration.”

“What are these object?” Xanthos asks. He winces as another wave of pain shoots through his body. I surrender the trident to Kyl, rushing to Xanthos to guide him to a seat on the couch, careful not to put pressure on his right shoulder. I leave the room for a brief second to fetch a wet washcloth to clean the dirt and blood from his face and hands. At first he refuses, attempting to take the cloth from me so he can do it himself. I reject his refusal and continue with my work.

Kyl exhales to answer but I beat him to the chase. “Metis said the she couldn’t tell me what the objects are. Now whether that means she doesn’t know or didn’t want to tell me, I don’t have a clue.” I find Kyl staring at me, not in pride or with a snide expression, with an interested one. He quickly shifts his gaze to Xanthos, the humble admiration morphing from his eyes.

“She didn’t tell me anything specific either. The only thing I received from her was a sword and a few subtle—hopefully I’m taking this correctly—hints.”

I squint at him. “How do you mean?” He perks up, pleased that I asked him. Kyl sits on the coffee table in front of me. There’s one difference between Xanthos and Kyl: One cares about other’s property and feels guilt when he thinks and/or realizes he has done something inappropriate, whereas the other just doesn’t care.

Kyl’s different colored eyes look deep into mine as he speaks, as if Xanthos isn’t even with us. “Growing up, I’ve learned a few things about body language and subtle things most don’t know they are doing that actually contributes to the conversation. I watched every one of Helios’s and Metis’s movements. While she was talking to me, she would mess with her necklace, hold the pendent in her hand and what not. I’ll have to do more research, but I believe that somewhere in mythology, there was mention of a necklace that could do something powerful to the wearer.

“Out of the corner of my eye, I would see Helios tap his fingers on the wine bottle that sat on the side table between the two chairs.” He says it like he knows I was in the same place as he was. “The most obvious choice for that one is Pandora’s Box. That was the first thing to pop into my brain, unless I’m mistaken, there aren’t any other boxes in our mythology. Also, Pandora’s Box wasn’t really a box. It was claimed to be a jar.

“The last one I’ve come up with so far is just an inference. I believe Hades must have misplaced his little pitchfork of doom or whatever, because the gods love to throw their little hissy fits over petty things.”

I ponder it for a moment. He looks at me like a child who has just seen all the presents under the Christmas tree. It is honestly kind of an adorable expression on him.

“They’re all probable. Really any special object is probable in this situation. I think our first move is to keep a sharp eye out and look for clues.”

“I agree,” Xanthos pipes up. “But I also think that we should get out of your hair. Heidi didn’t seem too pleased on the phone and I am sure your mum and her are already on their way home.”

The three of us stand simultaneously. Kyl hands over the trident and it seeps back into my palm, returning to the disguise of a tattoo. He claps a hand on Xanthos’s shoulder and he winces in pain. “Portal to your house?”

“I will meet you there. I am not riding in that thing for a long while.” Xanthos turns back to me. “Good night, Emma.” He heads out the front door.

After I smile at him, Kyl and I are left alone. “He’s something, isn’t he?”

I stare at him, not in a rude way; I’m just trying to figure out if he’s the one from my dreams. Being in his presence feels so familiar. I cannot stop thinking that it’s too soon for any part of the dreams to be real. They are just dreams and nothing more. Right?

“Is there something on my face?” He asks and I shake my head.

“It’s nothing.” I shrug. “Unimportant.”

Kyl moves closer, then stops himself. “Nothing? There is no such thing as unimportant, Emma. Especially with us. I don’t know what he’s told you about me. You can trust me. I’m fighting on your side.” Kyl turns to leave.

“Kyl,” I say. He pauses, standing awash in the light of the moon through the windows of the storm door. “Why did we end up here and not at Xanthos’s house?”

He swallows, figuring out what exactly to say. “Your thoughts are strong.” He gently shuts the door behind him, not without one last bit of eye contact.

I don’t understand why, but I like the way he says my name. It gives me that feeling someone might get while reading about their two favorite characters doing something cute together. It sends that pleasuring shrill through your heart. It’s satisfying.

I want to hear him say my name again, in the meaningful way he just did.


	10. A Lot Between Us

_~Xanthos~_

I stand on the sidewalk outside of Emma’s house before my motorcycle. The house, behind me, dark and quiet yet a life force inside worth being around, looms over me. I don’t look back at the building, I keep my attention toward the bike. My mind is reeling. It had to be him. Gods—no, _Titans_ —came to her to tell her that she’s being hunted. What are the Titans doing in the gods’ business anyway? Sure, it’s good to be forewarned about people or demigods or _whatever they are_ who are hunting you down. It’s good to know there is a bounty on your head. But why does he have to be involved?

As if on cue to my thoughts, I hear her front door close. Not loudly, carelessly. I glance over my shoulder at him. It is a challenge to see him through the darkness of night mixed with thick, falling snowflakes. His sweatshirt hood is up and his hands are stuffed in his pockets. A streetlight hovers over the road several feet away, yellow light pooling below it, causing the landed snow to sparkle. The only visual form of real life magic mortals allow themselves to believe in. The manmade light barely brushes him as he makes his way across the snow-dusted yard to me, his footsteps mixing with mine.

“I like her.” He says casually, as if discussing his favorite color. “She’s interesting. New. Although she is way too attached to that mortal brother of hers.” I turn my body around to face him so my neck doesn’t cramp. He continues talking. “This is going to be an interesting adventure. How powerful do you think she is?”

“I don’t like you, Kyl.”

He shrugs. “I never said you had to. But I can’t figure out why you don’t like me. I’m a delight.”

I cross my arms over my chest. He stares at my arms like I’m insane. To him, I probably am. Early December, it’s snowing, and I have my sleeve pushed up to my elbows. I cannot help the fact that I am not cold. I’m a freak of nature. Sue me.

“We have been through a lot, Kyros. Especially these last few years. But, you know, what we have been through, for the most part, hasn’t been good. You and I are a bad combination and eventually it’s going to get us in serious trouble again. I mean, for the gods’ sake, you left me to die last time we saw each other.”

This hits home. His expression darkens. No longer prideful or charismatic or juvenile but angry. I may have known Kyl for years on top of years, but I still am not for sure about how he decides to handle his impulsive ire. I’ve seen both sides of that coin. The explosive shark who attacks the accuser with words or physical altercations, and the boy who grew up without a real family, the one who shuts the gate and fortifies his walls, pulling in on himself until I’ve wondered whether a black hole with appear in his stead. He’s silent right now, glaring. I don’t know if I want him to explode and attack me or if I want him to stay silent, keep it to himself.

“Really, Xanthos? You’re going to pin our horrible experiences on me? Really? How dare you. You waltz around like you’re some humble creature who would never spite anybody. You play the victim.” He stabs a finger into my chest. “I cannot believe you. No, you know what? I can. Damn you, Xanthos Pain. Damn you all the way to Tartarus. I wouldn’t have left if—” He stops himself. “Does she know?”

“Dose Emma know what?” I ask, fury slowly climbing up through my body.

“Does she know about your…condition?” One eyebrow raised. Hands in pockets. Leaning to one side. Cocky, just like always.

I stare at him in shock though why should I be shocked that he asks me a bold question like that? “You have the audacity to ask that?” I say softly.

“What is it, Xanthos? What’s wrong? Are you afraid she’ll find out and want nothing to do with you just like everybody else you’ve ever met in your life? They all walk away. They all make their judgements and they walk away from you. We both know why. Or, if they don’t walk away, they leave you through a more permanent method. I mean, look at what happened to your brother and your father. The two closest people to you, the two you were supposed to trust the most, and they left you. And yet you stand there and look at me like I’m the monster.” He pauses, one foot on his soap box, on foot off. “I think you only like her because she _hasn’t_ run yet. Because she’s still here, willing to help you.”

My heart has gone numb, along with the tips of my fingers. The rage has reached my shoulders. I know he said something after mentioning my father and brother, I know I heard him, but I cannot focus on what exactly he said right now. I could strangle him. I’ve thought about it in the past after certain things he has said or done. I have thought about how I would do it. And I would. Right now, I might. “She doesn’t need to know.” I respond in a small voice.

Kyl shakes his head, a manic smile on his face. “Seriously? So you’re going to wait until something happens to raise the beast and she gets injured to tell her.” He gives me a thumbs up but I know he doesn’t mean it in the friendly way. “Good plan, Pain. Nothing will go wrong with that. She deserves to know.”

He is right. I’m not about to admit that to him, though. Not right now. Not after what’s been said. Emma does need to know. But we’ve just met. I will tell her, it’s for me to tell, not Kyl. This isn’t his problem.

“I know some things about you that I’m sure she’d like to know about.”

I squint at him. “Are you blackmailing me?”

“No. Not until you give me a reason to blackmail you. Just know that I have an arsenal of information about you. Like Brook. Remember her?”

Kyl is so caught up in knocking me to the ground with words that he has caught himself off guard. Her name hangs heavy in the air, loitering in the space between us. Kyl has not said her name around me in years, since the week after she died. Her death was an accident but he won’t hear it. Brook had been his only friend growing up, the closest thing he had to a big sister and then one day he lost her. In a vulnerable moment, he told me that he knew she would die one day but he always thought she would be the one losing him not the other way around.

Kyl holds his hands up. “I don’t want to do this here. Not in front of Emma’s house, not in front of all these other potential mortal witnesses. But I do need a place to stay.”

I roll my eyes. He knows too well that my father believed in helping others in times of trouble or need, and he knows that I uphold my father’s beliefs to this day. And honestly, I don’t really want to look at him anymore. “Fine, Kyl. I do not want you touching anything without my distinct permission.”

He nods. I decide to leave the conversation at that. Kyl takes a few steps back, glances around to make sure the coast is clear, before running to the edge of the sidewalk and _diving into_ the street. I shake my head, knowing that when I return home, he will be there, either on the front porch or inside, making himself at home.

Straddling my motorcycle, I take one last look at Emma’s house. The windows are dark. Is she already asleep? Is she with Mason? Or was she watching us? Kyl is right. She is interesting. She agreed to help me find a prophecy predicting the fall of Olympus. She gave me her number and we have been talking back and forth. Emma Knight is genuinely interested in being friends with me. She hasn’t hightailed it away. I smile into the darkness because of a girl who is kind. You know your life is royally screwed up when you expect people to run than be kind.

Revving the motorcycle, I leave Emma and Mason and their house, speeding through thick snowflakes to my house. One more thought crosses my mind as snowflakes attack my neck and arms with frozen outbursts. Kyl is right again; when we are around each other, we are explosive. It is always going to happen, an inevitable thing. I’ve wondered how much of fate and our actions are set in stone…but I don’t have to wonder about Kyl and I. Water and lightning, two colliding stars. The unfortunate truth is that when we collide, more recently it seems, others have been involved, standing in the soak zone. Yet, we always end up crisscrossing paths. Perhaps the Fates want us to work with each other no matter how horrid it turns out. And now there is another variable in our equation.

I do not want her to get hurt because Kyl and I can’t control ourselves. I do not want her to walk away from this because Kyl and I cannot work together properly. She is something special, powerful. I cannot help wondering: Was Kyl on to something? Do I only like her because she didn’t walk away from me the moment she found out who—no, _what_ —I am?

I know that she deserves to know. She is putting her trust in me and the least she deserves is knowledge of who she is working with. I will tell her. I just haven’t decided the right time to tell her about my inner demon.  



	11. A Late Night

_~Xanthos~_

 

I walk in on Kyl while he is in the middle of a phone call. He’s distressed, pacing in front of the silently blazing hearth, one hand holding his cell phone to his ear and the other hand either scratching the back of his neck or rubbing his face. I place my steaming mug of tea on the table we are working at. Kyl spots me as I make my way to one of the shelves, sending me wide eyes, shaking his head, and holding out his arms in an aggravated helpless gesture. _What am I supposed to do?_ The gesture asks silently. He returns the phone to his ear and puts his back to me as I delve into the labyrinth of bookshelves.

“Yes, I understand that, but I can assure you that by helping me, you will not be putting yourself on the bad side of any of the gods—”His voice softens as I put more and more books, shelves, and space between us and as I tune him out.

When I believe I am out of earshot enough, I slide my phone from my front jeans pocket and call Emma. She answers on the fourth ring.

“Hey,” She says softly, sleepily.

“Were you asleep? I am so sor—”

“Xanthos,” She breathes and I hear a gentle rustling in the background. “Xanthos, it’s okay. I was watching a movie with Mason and I guess we dosed off.” Her voice is a loud whisper. The way she speaks now is calming. I suppose the rustling was her moving away from Mason, perhaps to an entirely different room. “What’s up?”

I hear Kyl groan and glance back the way I came, making sure he’s nowhere close. He must just be supremely irritated with whoever is on the other line. “Kyl has been plucking at my nerves one too many times these past few days and I just wanted to hear the voice of someone sane.”

She exhales through her nose, a barely audible sound, and I picture her smiling. “Well, thank you for picking me.”

I don’t tell her that I really have no one else to call late at night simply to have a mundane conversation with. I will allow her to feel special. She deserves to.

“So,” I say.

A door closes carefully on her end. She laughs softly, a sound comparable to running water in a creek. “You’re not very good at phone conversations, are you? You call me and don’t come with any topics?” My face reddens and I’m glad she isn’t here to see me.

“What’s your favorite book?” I ask.

She laughs again, but this time it’s nervous. “Okay, um…please don’t think I’m pretentious. _The Odyssey._ ”

Instantly, I begin scouring the shelves until I come across an old copy of _The Odyssey_ , the epic written in its original ancient Greek symbols on aged pages. This is her. This is who she is. This is part of the path to her soul, the beginning to opening up to me, trusting me.

She inhales and exhales. “The moon is very beautiful tonight.” She’s outside. That explains the closing door. I make my way to the windows at the other end of the library, complete opposite of the room from Kyl where there are floor to ceiling glass panes. Moonlight from tonight’s waning gibbous seeps into the room, spilling onto the floor. I sit on the floor, her favorite book in my lap and a view of the moon directly in my line of sight.

Grinning despite the fact that she can’t see me, I say, “The celestial object or my mother?”

“I’m sure your mother is very beautiful considering she is a goddess. But I meant the celestial object, Xanthos.”

“I know,” I say softly.

There’s a pause and I can’t even hear her breathing. I know she’s there, though, on the other end. The quiet isn’t empty, it is filled with her existence. “It’s cold outside.” She comments.

I rest my head against the freezing glass of the window in a vain attempt to feel how she does. “Maybe you should go inside if it is so cold _outside_.”

“Well, I would be inside if I wasn’t entertaining a guy on the phone.” A pause and then she’s giggling to herself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did.”

I laugh as an effect from her giggle. “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “Kyl says that kind of stuff all the time, only he means to make those comments.”

She laughs again and her laugh is muffled a little, covering her mouth to keep quiet. I can see her clearly in my mind’s eye, sitting on her front porch, elbows on her knees, a hand over her smile, blanket wrapped tightly around her to add a layer because _it’s cold outside._ The mostly full moon paints the dark grass of her front yard in a pale white, casting shadows here and there.

I open the book in my lap to a random passage, instantly knowing what it says from all the ancient Greek lessons with my father growing up. I run my hands over the decrepit pages, yellowed from time, and the symbols put together so intricately that they happen to mean something as they glide across sheets of timeless paper. I almost laugh at myself. Timeless paper aged by time itself. It’s insane but oddly true.

“Xanthos,”

“Yes?”

“Have you guys found anything? Any possible clue as to what we are looking for?”

Taking a deep breath, I lift my head off the glass. “Not yet. Kyl is currently on the phone with someone he thinks can help but whoever it is, they are exceptionally hesitant. But you know that we will contact you the moment we find something. Emma?”

She doesn’t answer right away. “Yeah?”

“You sound worried. Is something wrong?”

Another hesitated answer. “Do you know if Kyl has been followed recently?”

I perk up at this. “What do you mean? Are you being followed?”

“Um, no.” She is not very convincing with this. “I just…I don’t know, Xanthos. I feel, sometimes, like I’m being watched and it scares me because I’m around Mason and my mom and Heidi and I don’t want to be asleep and have someone attack while I’m not prepared and—”

“Emma,” I interrupt her panic. She truly is afraid. Afraid of her family getting hurt. Although what is remarkable about it, and also quite saddening, is that she is afraid of them getting hurt because of who she is. I hate that she feels this way and I have only just met her. I start out soft, “Emma, you of all people do not have to worry about this kind of thing. You are a warrior. I know for a fact that you will not be defenseless if anyone or anything comes to harm your family. You will be okay.”

I wait for her response. Her end of the line is silent, Kyl is silent somewhere in the library. I am surrounded by silence and a creeping feeling is slowly rising. Are they being followed? Is Kyl and does he even know? Are they here, waiting for me to stupidly waltz back to the open area to capture me?

“Thank you, Xanthos.” She says, shattering the silence with her gentle voice. I don’t think she entirely believes what I have said about her, but she is at least willing to play along. “And I’m sorry I’m constantly breaking down around you.”

“Hey, I don’t mind. What else are friends for?” She laughs and I calm back down.

“XANTHOS!”

I throw my head back against the wooden wall, closing my eyes. “The paper cut on my finger is summoning me.”

“Oh, well, you better not keep him waiting.”

“No,” I say. “Goodnight, Emma. And thank you for picking up.”

“What are friends for?” I can hear her smile. “Goodnight, Xanthos.”

I wait a couple of seconds before hanging up, dropping my hand into my lap. I glance back outside at the snow covered grass, at the crisp sky holding stars, at the bright moon. I dare to meet the eyes of my own reflection and nothing happens at first. And then I see him. He smiles back at me, my reflection. Expression dark and smile monstrous. I place my hand over my reflection, fingers spayed out to cover as much of my face as possible.

Rising from my spot in the corner, and leaving the book to mark the place, I return to the open area.

“There you are,” He says as a greeting. “What were you doing back there?”

“Nothing,” I say, sliding my phone back into my front pocket. He, shockingly, lets the subject drop.

He shrugs and takes a seat at the table we’ve occupied with stacks of books, unfinished plates of food, and note paper and his laptop. “That was Eliana. I figured a Daughter of Athena would be able to really get information without getting caught—”

“What about one of Hermes’ kids?” I ask, suppressing a grin, as I take my seat opposite of him.

Kyl glares at me and the temperature in the room drops instantly. “Do not ever mention him to me. _Ever_.” He regains the energy he had before I crushed it all with a name. “And I dared to think about that before I decided that I did not want his involvement with anything. No, not happening. So I called Eliana about this and reluctantly she found information.”

“Wait,”

“What?”

“Who is Eliana?”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you remember a few years ago when I drove myself over the line trying to find my mom and sister?” It was one of Kyl’s darkest times. And he’s had a lot. “She saved me and then got hurt when I was attacked by harpies and then I brought her here so you could heal her.”

Her face surfaces from my memories. A young Hispanic girl with wide dark eyes, short black hair, and a spellbinding accent. It was a few months after my father died and I had shut the world out. Kyl and I had done a hunt together right before my father’s death, the same hunt with the incident that happened to Brook. It was a messy time for both Kyl and I. Even after what happened to his best friend the last time we were together, he still came to me, trusted me with someone else’s life. Eliana was a soothing presence to have around. I have her to thank for keeping me away from crossing over to insanity.

“I remember her. I’m surprised you’re still in contact with her.”

“Yeah, well, she’s probably keeping track of all the favors she’s doing for me so she can really get me back.” Kyl takes a bite from a cold piece of half eaten pizza. “Anyway, she told me that a few demigods heard about this object swipe and they want to get the objects so they can get a ransom or a deal from Hades. Guess whose DNA these demigods share.”

I rub my eyes, feeling the beginning of a headache. “Hermes.”

Kyl taps the tip of his nose. “Even when I try to exclude him, he always gets involved one way or another. So right now she is trying to contact these demigods about the objects they are circling in on and she’ll contact me ASAP.”

I nod. At least we have more help getting an idea about these objects. I really wish Metis and Helios would involve me in their private meetings with Emma or Kyl. I wish they would have shared more information on what we are searching for.

A couple of hours pass and I’m still sitting in my spot, my mug almost empty and no longer anywhere in the vicinity of hot. A book off the top of one of the stacks—I forget which one—sits open before me. Kyl has his laptop open, typing things in and reading articles. His hands are in his hair, strangling the strands between his curled fingers. His eyes are basically glazed over from staring at words for so long.

His phone’s screen illuminates, creating a new kind of stimuli, and I glance down at the new text message with the expectation of it being Eliana and being severely disappointed. I catch the first four letters of a name I know by heart. Kyl’s gaze moves to the phone and then meets my eyes. His hand is a striking serpent attacking his phone and pulling it to him. Even if I hadn’t seen the contact name, his actions make him guilty enough.

“Why is he texting you? And at one twenty in the morning, no less.” I ask him, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms.

He’s silent, avoiding eye contact. “It’s my business.” He finally comments.

“Really, Kyros? You and he became my business when you came to my father and I after he _electrocuted_ you. Or did you forget that?”

“Of course I remember!” He snaps at me. This is a tough subject for him. I would respect that if the object of this discussion _wasn’t_ Roland Steele. They were close, inseparable. Until they had a falling out that could crumble mountains. Roland was a reactor (not saying Kyl isn’t). The Son of Zeus didn’t take things too well and he decided to leave Kyl with a sick reminder. That was the night I met Kyl.

“You think I could forget something like that?” He continues. “I thank the Fates that he didn’t kill me.”

“Clearly he didn’t _want_ to kill you.” I say, nodding toward his phone wrapping tightly in his fingers. “How long?”

“How long what?” He asks with a mix of guilt and fear and defiance.

“How long have you been in contact with him?”

He doesn’t look at me but at the phone in his hand. The screen is dark against his fingers so I know he isn’t reading the text. “Four and a half years.” He mumbles.

My eyes grow wide and had I been drinking something I would have choked on it. Four and a half _years_? The incident with Brook was three years ago. We last saw each other in the flesh a year and a half ago. I can’t believe this. “Gods, Kyros—”

“Why in Tartarus do you even care, Xanthos? Huh?” He snarls at me. “Why? You told me to my face a few days ago that you don’t like me. Why does this concern you so much?”

I slam my hand on the tabletop and he jumps, startled by my outburst. I’m a little startled too, but I can’t show him that. “Just because you irritated me down to my bones does not mean I do not care if you are alive or bloody dead, Kyros! He is going to get you killed. How often have you been in contact with him these past four and a half years?”

He glares at me. “It wasn’t much in the beginning. He needed information and I wasn’t too keen on helping him. Eventually, he persuaded me and then he didn’t contact me again for seven months. It was mostly just texting until about a year ago when he called me. We met up a few times for lunch or just to hang out. Nine months ago we—” He stops himself, meeting my eyes with a startled gaze.

“Don’t tell me you’re the father of his child.”

Kyl screws his face up. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But you have done it, haven’t you?” I dare to ask and by the way their four and a half years have been going, I am not going to like the answer.

“Yes,” He says. “More than once.”

“Gods, I think I might be sick.” I can’t even look at him so I look at something to my right. “So what does this mean, are you two back together?”

He doesn’t answer me and he doesn’t appear to want to answer. “Are you, Kyros?”

“No…I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

I look back at him. With a composed voice, I say, “Just tell me one thing: Why? Why, of all your past relationships, why Roland?”

“Have you ever been in love, Xanthos?”

I swallow. “You know the answer to that question.”

“Well, it’s—” His phone ringing interrupts him and for a split second I think it is Eliana. The startled look in Kyl’s eyes tells me it’s Roland calling. He answers. “Hey, look this isn’t a good time…Roland, really, can I call you back?”

“No,” I say, picking up my mug and the leftover plates of snacks, rising from my chair. “Have your conversation. But do not be surprised if he hurts you again.”

I leave Kyl staring after me and I hear Roland’s muffled voice on the other end of the phone, the sound drawing cold fingers up my spine.


	12. A Visit From Kyl

_~Emma~_

 

_Five Days Later_

It has been days since I met Kyl and since the Chimera blew out the secret room(s). Since the three of us discussed the accusations made against Kyl and I. Mom and Heidi came home later that night and my grounding had commenced when they stepped foot in the house. Mason hasn’t been his usual self since then either and I’m really worried about him. He is probably still traumatized because of the events of that night.

Not much has happened that’s really worth discussion. Other than the fact that I keep getting texts from Xanthos. From my end, it’s funny and torture at the same time. Of course, there are the predictable ones: _Are you okay? Are you safe? What about Mason?_ Then the messages morph into: _Help me_ and _Take him away_ or _Can you please babysit Kyl for a few hours?_ I don’t know what Kyl is doing to Xanthos and I don’t think I want to find out.

Five days of those messages from Xanthos. I’m standing in the kitchen. There’s a large pot of beef broth, various spices and a few vegetables heating up on the stovetop. I’m at the counter next to it, cutting up a potato. Heidi is out with Mason and Mom is at work. I am completely and utterly alone serving my solitary confinement.

At least, I _was_ alone. The isolated atmosphere evaporates when a voice sounds from the open window to my right.

“What’re you makin’ there, Princess?”

I jump six feet in the air and position my right arm and wrist to throw the knife that rests comfortably in my hand. His face—tan and angular—with one green eye and one blue looks from me to the pot on the stove. “Well?” Kyl presses. “I’m hungry and Xanthos didn’t feed me.”

“What the hell, Kyl? Why are you here?” I glare at him as I lower my arm. His face vanishes and his whole being crosses over the backdoor’s threshold, up the three stairs and he stops beside me to peer over the edge of the pot. His chocolate brown hair is a morning’s mess, even though it’s almost sunset. He wears dark jeans, a black t-shirt mostly hidden by a blue plaid sweatshirt which he has zipped up halfway. It’s a tad on the too-big side. The sleeves of the sweatshirt are pushed up to his elbows with no care for the December temperature. The most shocking element of his appearance is the subtle purple-sage bruise on his cheek bone, just below his left eye. That hadn’t been there five days ago.

“Xanthos said he needed some quite time, so he demanded I come play with you. Not exactly his words but,” He shrugs, turning to face me.

“Why didn’t you knock on the front door like a normal person?” Kyl glances down at the knife that I’m white-knuckling. Fear flashes through his eyes. The terror is there and gone so quick and a wide, teeth revealing goofy smile makes an appearance to mask it.

“In case you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, I’m half god.” He steps even closer to me, our bodies separated by a space less than six inches. He keeps his gazed locked on me as he reaches behind me to turn on the faucet to its full capacity. I can hear the water rushing out like a miniature waterfall in my house. I study him as he maneuvers around me to stand on the opposite side of the small kitchen, turning with him as he circles around me. The once goofy grin has transformed to mischievous. He raises one hand, putting all of his attention to the rushing faucet water.

With a bit of concentration, the water coming out of the faucet no longer falls in a straight line into the sink drain; it flows in the air with a curved path. Lifting his other hand, he controls the water with such grace and skill. Kyl’s attention is back on me and the water harmlessly and lazily crawls toward me, slinking around my arms and body, looping around my head, never actually coming in contact with my being. He tilts his head in one quick motion and the faucet turns itself off.

One of his eyebrows rises. _Ready?_

 _Um…I guess. What am I to be ready for exactly?_ He lowers his hands and I instinctively catch the water with my will, the knife falling toward the floor right at my feet. In a swift rush, Kyl in kneeling before me, catching the knife in his hand. He’s unlucky with it only in that he caught it by the blade. He places it on the counter, a small drop of red on the edge of the blade.

Keeping my hands up to retain the water from collapsing onto the floor, (because I can already see Mom and Heidi fuming at the scene) the pressure of holding up the water lessens when Kyl mirrors me.

“I told you I wasn’t normal.”

The water builds into a good sized ball to occupy the space between our hands, growing until our palms are touching opposite sides of the sphere. His brows furrow quizzically and I’m relieved to see that he is just as bewildered as I am. Wait…if he isn’t doing this, then what is?

We both watch the water, which has somehow gained a mind of its own. I hope it doesn’t, you know, explode or anything. I’ll be grounded until there’s new water on the planet. Inside the ball, images flash so swiftly it’s hard to keep focus on one in particular before the next shoots though. They seem to be memories, passed experiences, both Kyl’s and mine, bouncing from Kyl’s memory to mine and back. They are scattered. One moment he’ll be seven years old, I’ll be thirteen only to bounce back to him a year ago or from when he was two. This is so strange. I’m seeing Kyl’s past and I still know nothing about him. It’s like the water blob is only showing us pointless moments from the other’s life.

Something peculiar happens then. (And trust me, when I say something is peculiar or strange, you better believe on it being out of the freaking ordinary.) Events that involve us both zip by that I haven’t seen yet. All of them various moving images between us hiding, fighting something, arguing with one another, one healing the other. It happens to be the final two images that stand out the most.

The first is of me on top of Kyl, pinning him to the ground. Anger engulfs me as I hold the prongs of a silver trident against his throat. His eyes are pleading and afraid, trying to tell me something or convince me of whatever. The background is fuzzy and the ball only shows the two of us. I continue pushing the sharpened prongs harder against his skin, a trickle of dark red coming from where the middle prong digs into the skin and a blood vessel underneath.

The image changes.

This final one rattles me beyond compare. It’s the ending to the nightmare I had what feels like so long ago. Instead of the boy from the nightmare, Kyl stands before me, half of his face bloodied. Where only a single tear runs from his left eye the salty liquid runs in rivers out of my eyes. We watch as Kyl within the image lifts a bloody hand to cup the side of my face, pull me close, and place a long and sad kiss on my forehead.

The image shakes and breaks like glass though the water ball remains completely intact. At the same exact moment the image shatters, the lights in the kitchen break and the blinds fall over the window, the back door slams shut. We are almost in complete darkness. It would be downright darkness if the water ball between Kyl and I wasn’t glowing a bright blue—the light rays dancing and scattering. The sight is like watching the surface of water break up sunlight. The light and shadows circle and dance with one another over Kyl’s features. It’s mesmerizing. Until I look back at the water ball and see the Mark of Poseidon.

The Mark is the source of the bright light. It spins slowly like an advertisement sign for a car dealership. Gradual warmth grows on the side of my body, just above my right hip. My Mark is beginning to glow and heat up. I notice a blueish-green light emitting from the outer side of Kyl’s right calf, just beneath his jeans. All three symbols refuse to halt the glow and heat and soon enough my skin begins to burn. My Mark has never gotten this hot or this bright, not since the moment I got it. Kyl’s face screws up in attempt to suppress the agony I know he has never felt at such an intensity before.

A full minute passes. I’ve come to the conclusion that my Mark is going to end my life right here and now with a stranger right in front of me when the water explodes, sending ice shards everywhere. My Mark instantly grows dark and frigid. An invisible force knocks Kyl and me away and down. We both hit opposing walls and then the floor. The temperature is arctic. Our breaths are visible, foggy white, like we’re outside, but it passes soon enough.

By the time I’m sitting up, Kyl is already pulling shards of ice out of his skin. Looking down at myself, I think it would be best if I start doing the same. Neither of us speaks until nearly all the ice is out of our skin.

Kyl shoots me an irate look. “What in Tartarus was that? Are you trying to kill me?”

I scoff at him through a wince as I yank out a rather large piece of jagged edged ice. “I could ask you the same thing. And how dare you presume I had any control over that… _thing_.”

“Wait,” He pinches the bridge of his nose as he rises to his feet. “You didn’t do that?”

 _Oh, my gods…_ ”No, I didn’t.”

He doesn’t pester anymore on the subject, probably wanting to let it lay low for a while. I wouldn’t mind that though I do want answers. Maybe I’ll bring it up when we have the energy to do so.

“Kyl,” I say gently, any and all ice pieces out of my flesh. I pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them. “Why are you here? Xanthos wouldn’t let you roam around here if it wasn’t for a reason. And don’t tell me it’s because he’s bored or annoyed with you. I have the text messages to prove that he’s felt such a way toward you and he chose to keep you. I won’t buy it. What’s up?”

A shark-like grin plasters itself onto his face. “We know what the first object is.”

Whoa, what? Did I hear that correctly? Is this some kind of prank? I scowl up at him from my spot on the floor, testing him to tell me otherwise.

“And,” He continues before I can say anything, holding up a finger. “We also know where it is.”

I cross my arms over my chest. The Mark of Poseidon still hurts. He doesn’t change his expression except into a bit of annoyance at my disbelief. “Fine, Emma.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to believe me. You can stay here and be a sitting duck for Hades’ wrath. But I’m going back to clear my name.”

He moves for the back door when I rise, positioning myself in his path. “I believe you. How’d you two find it?” His grin returns.

“You’re going to have to come with me to get that information,” he leans forward, “sweetheart.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, I’m grounded.”

“For how long?”

“A month.”

Kyl shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Come on, Emma. Have a little fun once in a while.” He playfully pokes me in the sides. “It isn’t like I’m kidnapping you to get high or drunk or whatever teen mortals do. Have a little adventure once in your life. I promise I’ll bring you back alive. Maybe not necessarily in one piece, but alive nonetheless.”

Unsure of how well Kyl is with his promises, I’m reluctant. “Where are we going?”

Kyl groans dramatically. “Xanthos’s house. Are you done restraining?”

I exhale. “Let me pack a few things first.”

Kyl flashes a grin of triumph. A glance around my room, deciding what to take. I grab an extra book bag usually reserved for family camping trips that we rarely go on anymore, stuffing it with two extra pairs of clothes, a pair of pajamas, toiletries, a wad of extra cash and some change, my phone charger and earbuds, and a stuffed teddy bear Mason gave me for Christmas last year. (Yes, I do sleep with it sometimes. No, I’m not afraid to admit that.)

When I return to the kitchen, Kyl is leaning back against a wall with hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Ready?” He pushes off the wall.

“One last thing.”

I grab the pad of paper Mom keeps on the refrigerator and a pen. I write a note.

_Mom and Heidi,_

_I’m going away for a little while. I don’t really know how long I’ll be gone. Don’t try to find me. I don’t know where exactly I’m going and it may just end up in death. I’m going to…I’m going to do something important._

I tear off the top sheet and leave it on the counter where I know they will find it. Tearing off another sheet, I fold it in half.

_Mason,_

_I won’t be home for a while. Be good for me. I promise I will call every change I get. I’m with Theo and another demigod. They will protect me. I love you, Mason. I will be okay. I swear._

_Don’t show this to Mom and Heidi._

_~Em_

I hurry up the stairs, shoving the note to Mason in his pillow case on top of the pillow so he will feel it when he lays his head down.

I return a second time to find him making his way to the front door. “Where are you going?” I ask him.

“I used a different mode of transportation.”

He opens the door before me, letting the storm door go behind him so I have to catch it. I growl low in my throat in aggravation. _Let it go,_ I tell myself. There, propped on its kickstand, gleaming in the light of the burning setting sun, is Xanthos’s motorcycle. Kyl leaps over the wooden railing and walks across the front lawn to it. Of course, I take the normal route, considering that if I attempted what he just did, I’d most likely fall. (Hey, I’m only stunt-amazing in battle.)

He throws one leg over the bike and I follow suit, sitting behind him. He passes me the only helmet. As I’m fitting it on my head, Kyl says to me over his shoulder, “Xanthos didn’t know I took it when I left. I’m sure he does now.”

With that, he starts up the bike, pushing up the kickstand with the heel of his shoe, and we’re off just as soon as I wrap my arms around his torso so I don’t fly off.


	13. The First Object

_~Emma~_ **  
**

 

 

I tighten my hold on Kyl’s shirt as he takes turns so sharp I might actually fall off or lose a leg, or die. Even his weaves in between cars and trucks give me heart attacks. I don’t even think my heart is beating right now. His shoulders bob up and down in small and quick movements. He is laughing at my fear.

The only way I can confirm this is by how he ups the speed by about a thousand and we rocket down streets. All around us, the blue-gray landscape eventually fades and blurs into nothing but empty fields. Where is Xanthos’s house?

He slows the speed after a turn and I can hear the blood pumping in my ears over the motor, feel my heart thud against its cage. There are no streetlamps to light the way and the only houses are massive two story white marble mansions that stand side by side. They both have identical flat roofs, columns wrapping around the entire outer side of the porches. Thick, immense, double mahogany doors stand tall (eight feet at least). I can’t help staring in awe at the magnificent artwork that sits still before me in the middle of nowhere.

Kyl grunts impatiently on the lawn, waiting for me to get off the bike. I didn’t even realize he got off. I toss my leg over and begin to remove the helmet when he laughs and shakes his head. “No, leave it on. I want to see Xanthos’s reaction.”

I place my hand on my hips but he’s already turned and heading for the house directly in front of us. To be honest, I’m uncomfortable standing here, like I’m a peasant being brought to see the crown prince by his right hand man. I don’t deserve to be in the presence of this house. Is that the only thing I’m undeserving of? I have no right to be the one to talk to Xanthos, the rare Son of Artemis, as many times as I have. I am the bug to his windshield, a grain of sand to his ocean.

I am the servant in his kingdom.

“Well, hurry up!” Kyl calls over his shoulder. I chase him up the yard and up the marble steps to the porch. Finally, I can see the diligently handled etchings and carving in the mahogany doors. Over the doors is Artemis’s name in Ancient Greek letters. In the center of the doors is the Mark of Artemis etched beautifully, and around the edges, running deer have been carved. Watching them carefully, I notice that the running deer are _actually_ running. Enchanted doors. Nice touch, Xanthos.

Kyl knocks three times on the wood and he barely has time to take his fist away when they both simultaneously fly inward. Xanthos stands in the foyer of the mansion. His feet are bare and the bottoms are partially red, probably from pacing back and forth on the marble flooring inside the house. His arms are crossed over his chest as he glares at Kyl, paying me no attention…yet. There is an angry scowl on his sharpened face, his lips are drawn tight into a thin line and his eyebrows are knit harshly, almost meeting in the middle.

He wears that dark blue and gray Seahawks sweatshirt once again, paired with dark colored jeans. It’s a casual style that fits Xanthos much better than the biker get-up. I try to peer behind him to see the interior. Mostly I see the floor to ceiling windows that are half modern glass and half stained glass.

Kyl plays on a large, toothy grin for Xanthos.

“You stole my motorcycle.” Xanthos tells Kyl. “I told you what could and could not be touched and that was definitely on the list of Could Nots.” Xanthos turn on me, stepping closer into the setting sun’s fiery light. “And _who_ is _this_?”

Kyl bursts out laughing like a hyena, elbowing my arm. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

Xanthos goes instantly pale before I can even fully remove the helmet. I give him a mock glare, grinning as I do so, picking on him for not knowing who I was. “Emma,” he breathes. “I am so sorry.”

My expression softens as Kyl intrudes the area between our gazes to our shoulder passed Xanthos. I watch him roll his eyes, shake his head, and step to the side. He extends an arm that allows me passage over the threshold. When I hike inside, I stop after a few steps to marvel at the beauty of the house. The ceiling is, to my best guess—and I’m no architect—about twenty feet high, not including the second floor. Through the gigantic windows, the sun set can be clearly seen behind a foreground of the loveliest garden a pair of eyes has ever encountered, and a background of tall mountains with snowy tops. The fierce light of the falling ball of fire mixed with the rainbow of stained glass creates colored shaped that paint my entire body.

To my left is a vast staircase one might see in a castle or a Disney princess movie. Two large corridors break off at my right; one leads the way to the gardens and the mountains. The other wanders farther sideways, toward the second house. A few doors are scattered here and there, all of them made from a dark mahogany with wrought iron designs on them. The walls are white with elegant silhouette paintings in black. They tell the story of a lost boy with nothing but a bow and arrows along with a dagger that starts off being too big for his small hands. He resides in the forest and comes to be acquainted with a young deer and a young wolf, both not quite full grown yet not babies. The silhouette paintings end with the boy—now a young man—dying to save his first best friend; the deer.

It’s a powerful story that must have some kind of deeper meaning. There’s just something about it…something _real_ …

My gaze falls to the floor which I thought was merely just a strange type of marble, but it’s more than that. The floor is indeed a marble floor. It’s also a picture of the night sky. Wait, that isn’t just a picture. I scan the floor over to Kyl who is standing on the sunset. This is a moving visual of the sky. Where I am is the neutral zone between night and day. Xanthos is positioned near the night’s first stars begin is appear.

“Is that—”

“Yes,” he answers me from his spot by the front door. The entire door frame is dressed in pieces of armor, weapons, and other spoils of war. A metal arch.

“You should see it in the middle of the night.” Kyl speaks up from the breaking of the two corridors, his voice echoing.

“Is the floor in the other house like this?” I ask openly.

Xanthos answers first, moving closer to me as he does. “That all really depends. It is, but at the same time it isn’t. I can show you if you want the extra tour.”

“Definitely.” I answer.

“Hey, Xanthos,” Kyl snaps his fingers. “Try to get in her pants later. She’s here because we found the first object.”

My face grows hot and Xanthos scowls over at him. He strides after Kyl who has already started bounding down the corridor on the right, the one not leading to the mountains. I follow behind them. Watching the floor as I walk, I realize that this is an extravagant rendition of the Milky Way Galaxy; the stars glistening and twinkling with every one of my moves.

Shifting paintings of deer herds follow us on the right wall, a pack of gray wolves stalks beside us, watching for any threats on the left.

Kyl stops abruptly, bursting through two large doors on the right. A warm rectangular light cascades across the floor. Inside is a vast room filled to the brim with books. (That twenty foot high ceiling I mentioned earlier? Yeah, this reaches all the way up to the roof of the house.) A grand fireplace roars with large golden flames. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling. The carpet is forest green. Walnut chairs and tables are spread out on the main floor, each set with at least three lamps with glass shades.

Every book known to man is in this library. Belle would pass out if she saw this place. I don’t realize my mouth is hanging open until I get a taunting smile from Kyl. He sits at the table with the most clutter on it. Xanthos joins him and Kyl beckons me over. On the table, a large book covers the wood surface. It’s opened to a page titled _Pandora’s Box_ with small ancient Greek writing down the pages that looks more like art than writing. Various notebooks are strewn here and there with translations from the ancient pages, the lines on the spiral-bounds scrawled and scribbled in pens and markers of various colors.

I stare at the notebooks in confusion. “Don’t you know what the writing on the pages says?” I meet Kyl’s eyes. He’s bent forward to look at the screen of the laptop sitting in front of him, the light illuminating his face in blue, green, and white.

Kyl mirrors my expression. “What?”

“Can’t you just look at the ancient Greek and know what it says?”

“Um, no. What kind of party tricks do you come with?”

Maybe I can because of Heidi. I have seen a ton of Greek writing in my life. It’s strange, though. I thought every demigod could translate immediately from Greek to English.

Xanthos takes a seat in the wooden chair beside Kyl, holding a silver iPad, tapping the slim surface of the electronic device. (I pick up on how Xanthos sits more on the far side of the chair, away from Kyl.) He turns the device around so I can see what is displayed on the screen. There is a rotating three dimensional image of a jar-shaped object made of clay. The designs painted on the sides are breathtaking, the talent evident in the black and gold paint on a dull orange surface. Too bad I don’t know what they mean, if they mean anything.

“Pandora’s Box. Yes, the infamous box. And I do mean _in_ famous box, though it’s really a jar with a lid. Pandora was the first woman on earth by Zeus’s request. She was crafted by Hephaestus. Zeus had a hissy-fit when Prometheus stole fire from Olympus to give to the petty humans and he ‘gave’ Pandora to Prometheus’s brother Epimetheus. I don’t know how their relationship was but one thing led to another and she opened a jar with all the evils in the world, including, but not limited to, death. When she went to close the jar, little ol’ hope was hanging on the lip of the jar.” Kyl says, retelling the story.

I’m silent for a moment, mulling over the details. I know the story by heart even though it’s a fairly short one. “You didn’t have to tell me her life story. I already know it.”

“Then why’d you let me waste all that breath?”

“Does it matter? You love the sound of your own voice so much you would have just continued talking.” Xanthos deadpans.

I bite my lip. “And you are convinced this is the treasure of Hades that we’re chasing?”

Kyl’s head springs up with an offended look across his face, like I had just told him that his favorite color doesn’t look good on him. “Yes!” He shouts, his voice cracking slightly. “Well, one of them.”

I turn around and walk up to the book shelf across the room. Drawing my fingers over the velvet spines of the beautiful books, I stumble upon Homer’s _The Odyssey_. I pull it from its living space and open to a random spot, the sweet aroma of old and loved book rises to my nose.

“How did you figure it out?” I glide back to them, watching the words on the pages as they describe Odysseus’s journey. I read this last year in English class. Most of the kids didn’t understand, or they just didn’t care about the exquisiteness behind the words and mental images Homer paints. That book quickly became my favorite book.

I meet Xanthos’s gaze and he immediately shifts his eyes to Kyl’s screen. “Well?” I urge his answer.

Kyl gleams with pleasure to have been asked to present his secret. “First, Princess, there is the evidence of my super awesome ability to read body language. Of course we left you alone and since then we’ve doing research. You know, hacking into security cameras, listening to police scanners, the usual. I, personally, have gone out and talked to some demigods who owe me favors, specifically a Daughter of Athena. She knows all the good stuff. Recently, over the past month, there has been talk about group of four planning to steal our precious Pandora’s Box. Did I mention they’re demigods? They are masterminds when it comes to robbery, although I must say that their murder is shamefully sloppy. What else can you expect from Children of Hermes?”

I don’t even want to know what he means by that. “Anyway,” he continues. “We have located the building the box is in. We also know just when the group is going to strike their sticky fingers in attempt to thieve it away.”

I raise an eyebrow at the impressive news. I’m shocked that the boys did all the grunt work instead of having me do it. (Though I am a bit offended that they didn’t involve me.) There are just a few things that are bothering me. “When do they plan to steal it?”

“Three days.” Kyl answers, leaning the chair on its back legs.

“Why would someone want to steal it?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’m not the thieves. One theory I tossed around with Eliana is that they want to strike a deal with a god and they are more than willing to let that god be Hades. I’ve also heard the gold on the box is actual gold so it could be worth a crap ton of money.”

I nod my head at his acceptable answer. “And you said this earth shattering hunk of clay is being kept in Washington. Like, Washington _State_ , Washington?”

“HA!” Kyl’s voice emits loudly, repeating many times in the filled emptiness of the library. “No, Princess. It’s not quite _that_ far. Trust me, if it was, we would be discussing this in the car on the way there. No. I meant Washington D.C. We leave tomorrow afternoon. At the earliest…” He sends Xanthos a glare. Clearly, I’m not the only non-morning person in the room.

Xanthos squints back at him as if he can’t believe Kyl would have the audacity to make such a face at him. “Listen, I am not thrilled about it either, but the earlier we leave, the sooner we get there and the sooner we are there, the quicker we can scan the place out and formulate an efficient plan to get in, get the box, stop the pair if need be, and get out to find the second object. Okay with you, Kyros?”

Kyl huffs dramatically and throws up his hands. “Fine.” He exasperates. “But I don’t want you bitching to Emma about my mood tomorrow if I’m awakened at seven a.m. to leave at seven thirty. Got it?” He jabs a finger toward Xanthos.

“I think someone needs to get some sleep now.”

“Shut up.” Kyl returns his attention to the laptop screen, brows furrowed in irritation and anger.

Xanthos moves his gentle silver eyes to me. His soft expression is somewhat apologetic for Kyl’s behavior. He stands and walks over to me. I watch him intently, wondering what he is doing, and he holds my gaze the entire time, taking the old book gently from my grasp and closing it, keeping a finger on the place I had it opened to.

“Would you like that tour now?”

“Sure,”

He elegantly bows his head at the doors we entered the library through and I suddenly feel a twinge of sadness for having to leave this magnificent room so soon. “After you, Emma. You may come back here later if you want.”


End file.
